


Midnight City Problems

by Hanari502, SelanPike



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: ddps is a kismessitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanari502/pseuds/Hanari502, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelanPike/pseuds/SelanPike
Summary: Midnight City spawned from the ashes, forged by dark magic and uncontested will. Spades Slick was its undisputed kingpin, and Lord English his ultimate enemy. Unfortunately, fate isn't kind to the inhabitants of this semi-prosperous metropolis, and the shadows that lie beyond the Furthest Ring have plans for these unsuspecting mobsters.You should never put all your cards on the table. You might lose a hand or two.





	1. Chapter 1

 

**> Be Doc Scratch.**

Welcome dear Reader, to the beginning of the end. You’ve come just in time to watch the demise of the single most important man in the universe.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. You have absolutely no idea what’s going on, do you? Of course not, you did just get here.

Very well. I suppose it’s up to me to educate you. I’ll try to make this quick. Just because I have unlimited time doesn’t mean I want to waste it.

In the beginning there was a war. Before city streetlights existed, before the wisps of smoke from chimneys mingled with the clouds the skyscrapers touched, there was a war. A clash between black and white in a battle for victory that stained the moons red. A battle that waged on checkered ground, a chess game played between two masters. Before the buildings and the blocks, there was chaos. There was death and destruction and monochrome battlefields. There was gold and purple and victory mattered, and anyone standing in the way of it didn’t.

There was a war, and in its wake a city formed.

For centuries the war was fought, both sides numerous in quantity. The armies of black and white waged fierce battles and countless lives were lost. All of existence flowed into a bloody singularity that trudged forward towards an uncertain future. The gap between those alive and those dead widened by the day, and most forgot what exactly they were fighting for. This was normal for these soldiers, the Prospitans and Dersites. War was all they ever knew, it was what they were made for. They were cloned and created with the sole mind to fight, to conquer and win.

Unfortunately for them, the end result had already been determined.

The Black Queen, a ruthless dictator, commanded her armies with an iron fist. Cunning battle strategies and cases of subterfuge and blackmail ran rampant on the other side. Strategically she had the upper hand and with her cunning military expertise, she seized victory and brought an end to the bloodshed. The death of her king meant nothing to her and was quickly forgotten in the chaos. With the help of her archagents, the opposing side’s royalty crumbled. The King was gutted, the queen beheaded, and like the rush of the tides the battle was over. The glory went to Derse and war prisoners were taken, enabling the dark kingdom to flourish and thrive in their victory. All was well, so it seemed, for the Dersites.

All was well for everyone, except Jack Noir.

Now, Jack was no ordinary pawn. He was an archagent under the queen’s very thumb. A Sovereign Slayer, if you would. He did as she commanded, completed any work he was assigned, and sat through every torturous teasing that Her Majesty decided to thrust upon him. It was through those ends that a deep hatred festered in the mind of this high ranked carapace, and that hatred caused her ruin. Jack rose up against her tyranny in a coup that got him and several other carapaces exiled to the wastes. No one would show them kindness or mercy, no one would follow their cause, or so the queen thought.

Cast aside to the forgotten sahara of the moon, Jack wandered aimlessly with his three other arch agents. His anger manifested into vigilance, resentment, and confidence. He was determined to prove her wrong. They were all determined to bring her down and, through the use of dark magic unknown to this world, the four pledged a sacred oath to the darkness to do just that. Calling upon the blight known as Shadow Magic, the four would receive immense power in exchange for their souls when they died. A fitting trade, seeing as though they wouldn’t be using them. With revenge on their minds, they swore into this sacred bond at the stroke of twelve and became something new. Something we have come to call The Midnight Crew.

Newly formed, the Midnight Crew took on new identities. Jack Nour became Spades Slick, his colleagues donning the names Diamonds Droog, Hearts Boxcars, and Clubs Deuce to suit. With Slick’s guidance they set to rebuild the society that they were cast out of, and use their magic to pull a city from the depths of the sand. One made of blood, sweat, magic, and most importantly, the hate for the detestable queen that had sent them there in the first place.

Spades Slick built a city and he would be crowned its new king, and within a week Midnight City had formed.

Word of construction on the planet reached out to the moons. Dersites and prospitans alike left to travel to the desert planet with the city in it. They too became aware of the Black Queen’s harsh ways and decided to leave. The promise of a new world and a new ruler was more enticing than that of the lives they already led. With their chins held high, the rest of the moon’s populations fled to what was once Alternia. The Black Queen’s reign had come to an end. She was to rue in her inheritance. Slick’s vengeance seemed complete, but it was far from over.

When The Black Queen realized her citizens no longer wanted her, she became furious and vowed to destroy the newly named Slick. After all of her allied agents were gone, she sat and waited half a century before she made her move. Much like the Midnight Crew had struck a bargain with dark forces, she made a deal with a different devil. A much more handsome and charismatic devil. Her deal was simple. She was to become one with the universe, and was granted the gift of space. The only downside was that when she died, the universe crumbled with her. She did not care for the fate of the universe. A universe she could not control was not a universe worth having.

With a snap, Sn0wman became.

Sn0wman was given, by the grace of her new god, a crew to rival Slick’s own, and in no time the city was once again torn between two factions. A new war sprang up between The Midnight Crew and The Felt. For these creatures, war seemed the only way to live. Constant conflict was the only thing that would keep the city thriving. During the day, the world was ordinary. The mixed Prospitans and Dersites went about their lives, entertaining themselves with jobs and families, and the promise of a flourishing civilization. But when night fell, the world changed. Peaceful streets became canvases for crime. Gangs littered the alleyways and the authorities were at no liberty to stop them. The city stayed afloat on back alley trades and illegal smuggling, and they were none the wiser. When the sun rose on their city, it was as if nothing had ever transpired the night before. The only memories of anything were relayed on the news stations the morning after.

Though the organized crime helped the city survive, there must always be a light to the darkness. In a short amount of time, out of seemingly nowhere, a detective's firm had popped up in the middle of the city. In the beginning, the idea was laughable to the two sides. Who in their right mind would be idiotic enough to go after Spades Slick? What kind of person would risk their life to put him behind bars in the city he made with his own two hands?

The answer to that question was Problem Sleuth.

In no time at all, Sleuth and company went from solving smaller crimes and mystery cases to interfering with regular Crew and Felt affairs. He became a thorn in Slick’s side, hounding him in pursuit of what he called justice and interrupting his heists. A rivalry formed between them, and almost weekly they saw each other with knives to their throats and guns to their entourages.

Their rivalry, however, interfered with that of Sn0wman’s, and she too became an antagonist in the pulchritudinous gumshoe’s life. The three have been dancing to the dangerous tune of blood, guns, and knives for a fair amount of time, and with a carapacian lifespan, it could have gone on for eons.

And that, dear Reader, is where we are at this very moment. Time has passed and relationships have formed, alliances have been made, and chaos has been wrought. Well, not yet. You haven’t seen any of that yet. I, on the other hand, know exactly what is going to happen, and have seen it unravel before me like the very threads of time and space. The conflict between the members of The Midnight Crew and what they are up against are worthy of a tale all their own, but I won’t be the one to tell it. Oh, no.

You’re going to watch as it transpires. After all, what is a story if you can’t learn and grow with it? A dull one, in my eyes. I prefer stories with substance and a thrilling ending, and many many deaths.

Is this one of those stories? Perhaps. Possibly. But you’ll have to read to find out.

Welcome, dear Reader, to the tale of Midnight City Problems.


	2. Chapter 2

**> Be Problem Sleuth.**

The problem was existential in nature.

Well, sure, there was a distinctly physical aspect to it. There was the threat of the tear in reality growing worse, eventually splitting all of existence in twain. In the meantime, there was also the risk of war breaking out between factions on the two sides of the Rift. Even if that didn’t happen, there was still the problem of one side’s problems spilling over onto another.

Besides all of _that_ , the problem was a huge existential mess.

The existence of alternate timelines were a given--parallel existences where circumstances played out slightly differently, leading to the inevitable failure of the whole shebang. It was one of those elementary things everyone learned back in the Incipisphere. Two plus two is four, war is inevitable, and countless alternate timelines exist wherein everything goes wrong and you’d better hope that this timeline you’re currently in is the alpha timeline because if not, _hoo boy._

This wasn’t that. The whole thing with alternate timelines was that they branched off of the alpha timeline. They were, in the end, just one part of a larger whole. What was on the other side of the Rift was independent of that. It had its own alpha timeline, its own branches, its own game session. Same players, but the NPCs were all shuffled around. The people who were Dersites on this side of the Rift were Prospitians on that side, and vice versa. There was another version of Sleuth over there, one who grew up in the darkness of the Furthest Ring, who listened to the eldritch whispers instead of watching visions in Skaia’s clouds.

He was obviously an asshole.

The idea of an evil version of Pickle Inspector didn’t sit right with Sleuth, and he was thinking about that as Pernicious Innovator opened the door and stared down at him. The obnoxiously tall Dersite’s expression could only be described as disgust. He was imposing, but the worst part of it was that he still looked like Pickle. He still had those piercing, sunken eyes, the unkempt hair, and he looked like he slept in his clothes. He was also grey, his eyes had turned a shade of milky lavender, and his hair was the bright white that was supposed to be a symptom of the final stages of magic sickness or grimdark possession. He didn’t look possessed or sick. At the very least, he wasn’t dripping ink or sprouting tentacles.

“Hey there, good evenin’,” Sleuth said, pretending for all his Pulchritude was worth that he wasn’t terrified. “Nice t’ finally meetcha! Th’ name’s--”

“Problem Sleuth.” When Innovator spoke, there was a faint undertone of innumerable inhuman voices speaking along with him. “I know. How did you find this place?”

“Well I’m a detective, ain’t I? ‘S what I do.”

Innovator ogled Sleuth. It was a familiar feeling. “Pickle told you.”

Sleuth’s grin widened. “Drew me a map ‘n ev’rythin’.”

Innovator considered the detective for a moment, before letting out a small sigh and moving to let Sleuth inside. The building, Sleuth figured, was a safehouse, and not a permanent hideout. On the outside it looked like an abandoned storefront, with all the windows shuttered and covered in the graffiti that was typical of this sort of neighborhood. On the inside, it was decorated like a comfortable, minimalist apartment. The walls were white and the furniture was smokey grey, with bright green accent pillows tossed around. Sleuth had a good idea who picked the color scheme. It was too clean, didn’t have signs of having been lived in for any significant amount of time.

Innovator closed the door behind Sleuth, and reset all of the ten locks. Then he led Sleuth through the back of the room, into a hallway. “I assume you’re here about our mutual problem.”

Sleuth almost had to trot to keep up with Innovator’s pace. Damn long legs. “I mean, problem’s my first name.”

“Yes,” Innovator said. “How appropriate.”

Sleuth ignored the subtle insult. “I dunno how much he’ll listen t’ me, but I gotta give it a try, right?”

Innovator stopped at a door and turned to face Sleuth. He leaned in close, and spoke with a sense of insistent urgency. “Make him leave.”

“I’ll try,” Sleuth said.

“No,” Innovator replied, and the eldritch voices raised in volume. “ _Make him leave._ ”

Sleuth chose not to engage further. He entered the room.

It was decorated similarly to the room out front, except that instead of being a general living area, it was a bedroom with an office area. The other room was clean, but this one was more so--so neat that Sleuth would have assumed it wasn’t in use at all, if not for the fact that Diamonds Droog was currently in it. He was sitting at the desk cleaning out one of his assault rifles, but he looked up at Sleuth the moment the door opened. Sleuth didn’t give him the chance to speak first.

“You’re seriously off gallivantin’ with my evil twin?”

Droog gave a glance at his surroundings, as though the answer should be obvious just from their location alone. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

“Why, even? He’s jus’ so…” Sleuth gestured vaguely.  “Ughhh, y’know?”

“You say that,” Droog said, returning to his work. “But you’re nearly the exact same.”

“Yeah, no. I don’ stab people, thanks.” Sleuth stopped, and thought about that statement. “Well. I don’ giggle like a crazy person when I’m stabbin’ people, anyhow.”

Droog began reassembling his gun. “If you’re here to try and convince me to leave my new employer, you’re going to get a very expected answer.”

“I ain’t doin’ that.” That was a lie, but Sleuth knew damn well that Droog wasn’t going to take orders. “I jus’ wanna know why.”

“Because doing the same thing every day and expecting different results is the exact definition of insanity.” His reply was quick, calculated. As was everything else he did. As was his partially-constructed semi-automatic.

“Okay. ‘s fine. But why this? Why _Peccant Scofflaw_?” Sleuth couldn’t hide the contempt in his voice. His double was a prick of the highest order, and he knew that Droog knew that too.

Droog stopped. He thought about the question.

“He interested me,” he replied, finally.

That was the opposite of a satisfactory answer. “Int’rested you.”

“What do you expect me to say?”

Not that, that's for sure. “I dunno. Somethin’ logical?”

Droog rolled his eyes. “Why do _you_ think I’m doing this?”

Sleuth threw his hands in the air, raising his voice. “I dunno! But ‘s kinda bullshit, ain’t it? Hoppin’ universes t’ join up with Scofflaw! What th’ actual fuck, Droog?!”

“He’s a surprisingly dependable employer,” Droog said, turning his back to Sleuth and once again returning to his gun.

“He’s a crazy, murderous, Fluthlhu-lovin’ dickwad!”

Something metal in Droog’s hands clicked into place. “He defended me. I didn’t need it, but he did.”

“He prolly did it t’ get in your pants.”

Another click. “He called me his family.”

“Yeah, well, Deuce calls ya’ that too ‘n here I don’t see ya’ gettin’ choked up.”

Something clattered on the desk. Droog looked tense, but his voice remained even. “Deuce is a moron.”

“You’ll be sayin’ th’ same of Scoff soon enough.”

“Scofflaw isn’t an idiot. That’s why he interests me,” Droog said, and he finally started putting the gun parts aside. “He knows what he’s doing and he isn’t a knife-happy asshole who jumps the gun before  loading it.”

Sleuth let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “Droog, jus’ stop it. He’s me. ‘F course he’s an idiot.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Droog looked back at Sleuth. “I learned something about this world. The personalities of our counterparts are exactly the same in demeanor and thoughts, but their drives and where they pull their ambitions from are different.” He swiveled his chair back, to face Sleuth fully for the first time in this exchange. “You’re a good man, Sleuth. You have morals and convictions and you’re undoubtedly a strong fighter and probably an all right detective.”

“ _Hey-_ ”

“But Scofflaw is not you." He cuts him off before he can make a real rebuttal "He’s darker, sharper, more dangerous, and he isn't afraid to break the law to get what he wants.”

“‘N he’s a dick,” Sleuth added. “Don’ forget that one.”

“He’s better than Slick.” His words hold an understated weight to them. A disappointment that shouldn't be there.

Sleuth couldn’t even argue that point. He shrugged. “Okay, y’ got me there.”

“This team, the Scoundrels, they’re better than the Crew,” Droog continued. “It’s only natural that I pick the best outcome.”

“I jus’ ain’t sure where y’ fit into it,” Sleuth said, crossing his arms. “They got all th’ guys they need. ‘N Inny out there don’t seem t’ want you around.”

“The Twilight Scoundrels have an equal balance of brains, charisma and brawn, that’s true. But they all lack in one very important element.”

“‘N what’s that?”

Droog smirked, and Sleuth felt a primal hate well up in him. Now wasn’t the time. “None of them are me.” A pause. “Did that sound too vain?”

“Yep.”

“What I meant to say was--”

“Whatever, Droog, whatever!” Sleuth said, losing his patience, waving his arms around as he spoke. “But what’s even th’ point? Y’ were a big shot back home, you’ll be a big shot here. ‘S all th’ same damn thing!”

“You’d think so.” Droog paused, squinting at the detective in front of him. “Wait. I know what you’re doing.”

Sleuth crossed his arms. “I ain’t doin’ a thing.”

Droog stood up, taking a step forward and pointing at Sleuth accusingly. “You’re doing that thing you do when you’re trying to figure out what I’m doing by aggravating me. You and your infuriating ‘Pulchritude’.”

“Hey, don’ diss th’ divine flames, okay. Y’ signed on t’ be in their resplendent light th’ minute y’ signed on with Scofflaw.” Sleuth held his arms out, bolstering his Pulchritude. “This’s whatcha got t’ look forward to!”

Turning on his charisma made Sleuth seem to others to be more attractive, more likeable, more trustworthy. He’d used it on Droog enough times that Droog could smell the bullshit a mile away, and only subtle amounts of it worked anymore. Regardless, Sleuth knew that flashing his full Pulchritude at Droog annoyed the mobster, and what was Sleuth if he wasn’t making criminals’ lives more miserable?

Droog stood his ground, unaffected. “I can handle Scofflaw.”

Sleuth lowered his arms. He kept the Pulchritude right where it was. “Right, ‘m sure.”

“Did you really bring yourself all the way out here just to ask what I’m doing?”

He shrugged. “Well, I thought I’d ask for myself, considerin’ how I’m pretty sure this shit’s gonna go nuclear. Might ’s well know why.”

Droog raised an eyebrow. “What in the world makes you think that?”

“Oh, please.” Sleuth waved his hand at him, a dismissal if anything. “This’s got disaster written all over it. ‘N people’re gonna get hurt ‘n you don’t even give a shit. Why? ‘Cause y’ got bored? You fuckin’ asshole.”

“Why are you so worked up over it?” Droog took another step forward. “This doesn’t even concern you. Just go back to your office and hole yourself in one of your stupid forts until this all blows over.”

Sleuth, too, stepped forward. “I know y’ gotta have ‘n endgame here! I jus’ wanna know what it is!”

“All you need to know is that if you stay out of my way, you won’t be affected.”

“Asshole.”

Droog balled his fists. “I’m telling you to protect yourself, you incorrigible fucking moron.”

Sleuth closed the distance between them. “It’s my damn city I’m worried about!”

“With all due respect, Sleuth.” Droog leaned in, his face dangerously close to Sleuth’s. He grinned, and it wasn’t the same as his usual one. There were more teeth in it, and there was a vague aura behind him. “It was never _your_ city. And it never will be.”

Sleuth frowned. “‘Course. I get it now.”

Droog blinked. “What do you get?”

The detective shook his head. “Nothin’. I’ll show m’self out.”

Sleuth made his way back to the door. He opened it to a curt “Have a good night.” from the mobster.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sleuth exited, closing the door behind him.

Innovator was still standing there in the hall. He looked displeased.

“You had one job,”

“Ain’t done doin’ it,” Sleuth replied, reaching into his jacket for a smoke. “Jus’ gotta change tactics, is all.”

“Please tell me you’re sending Pickle,” Innovator said.

“Yeah.” Sleuth produced the cigarette, and held it out to Innovator. “Got a light?” Innovator produced a flame from the tip of his thumb, which Sleuth used to light his cigarette. He took a long drag off of it. “Fuck. I missed th’ taste that shadow magic adds. Anyway. Yeah. I didn’t wanna put all this on ‘im, but Droog ain’t gonna listen t’ me, so Pickle it is.”

“He’s always welcome here,” Innovator said. “You, on the other hand, can get the fuck out.”

Innovator grabbed Sleuth by the sleeve. The next thing Sleuth knew, he was being hurled through infinite abyss, and when that feeling stopped, he was standing on the South Bridge--the condemned bridge on which the Rift sat. Sleuth regained his footing and looked around. Innovator pointed him in the direction of the Rift, and then disappeared in a puff of acrid purple smoke.


	3. Chapter 3

_Weeks ago, but not many…_

**> Be Diamonds Droog.**

Droog wished that, for once in his life, Spades Slick would listen to reason. Doing a heist was fine. Sure, there were more pressing matters at hand, but doing a heist in spite of all that was fine. It was a signal to the rest of the city that nothing was wrong. The Crew are still robbing joints, all is right with the world. No, the problem was that they all knew that Team Sleuth had a sniper and Slick still kept choosing targets that left them out in the open.

The target was a bank downtown. Already not a good choice--sure, it was high-profile, but there were too many tall buildings. Easy vantage points, especially for someone like the Inspector, who was good at getting into places he shouldn’t be. The bank in question also had large windows on all sides. The architect was a big fan of natural light. So unsurprisingly, Droog found himself pinned down behind a desk to avoid fire. Deuce was nearby, also hiding. Slick and Boxcars had gone upstairs to where the safe deposit boxes were locked up. From their yelling on the radio, he assumed that they’d run into resistance.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Normally he wouldn’t bother with his phone during a job, but Droog had a feeling who was calling before he even looked at it.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t teleport to your location right now and snap your gun in half,” Droog said, upon answering.

“Because it would be rude, for one,” came the voice of Pickle Inspector. He wasn’t stuttering like he usually did. He always had a strangely calm demeanor while behind his rifle. “And also, because you don’t know I won’t shoot one of your teammates before you can get to me.”

Droog clicked his teeth and took a glance out of his cover, trying to pinpoint where the Inspector was shooting from. A bullet whizzed past his ear, shattering a window in its path and implanting itself into the wall behind him. He got back down.

“So you have me pinned, but your focus is entirely on me,” Droog said into his phone. “Are you really going to risk looking away to attack my teammates when I can be there in half a second?”

There was another gunshot, another broken window, and a bullet landed on the floor next to Deuce, who had made a short attempt to crawl to where Droog was. Deuce returned to his hiding spot, looking annoyed.

“You underestimate how quickly I can aim,” the Inspector replied.

“And yet you have time to call me.”

“Well,” the Inspector said. “How else am I going to get your attention?”

“You have it. Complete and undivided.”

Droog shot up a wall of shadow magic. It covered the space between Droog’s hiding space and Deuce’s, black and opaque, capable of absorbing a few bullets before collapsing. Droog rushed over to Deuce before dropping the barrier. The Inspector didn’t bother trying to shoot it. He’d run into Droog’s barriers before, and likely knew it would be a waste of bullets.

“Aside from that,” Droog said once he was settled. “What are you trying to prove here? You have Deuce and I pinned down. Slick is fighting Sleuth, and Boxcars is fighting Ace.”

“Keeping you occupied while the police are en route.” While the Inspector talked, Deuce leaned in to listen too. “And reminding you that Innovator isn’t the only person who could kill you, I suppose.”

Droog very nearly smirked. “Why Inspector, is that jealousy I detect behind your scope?”

“Of course not.”

Deuce chimed in. “You’re lying, but okay.”

“Deuce, it is rude to listen to other people’s conversations,” the Inspector replied, clearly and loudly, before going back to his previous topic. “In any case, you ought to pay less attention to Innovator. You already have a universe of your own. Getting involved with those facsimiles of us is just a terrible idea.”

“I’m sensing quite the confidence surge in you, Inspector. Let’s test that, shall we?”

Droog put the phone down, leaving the conversation running. He stepped completely out of cover, even as Deuce tried to grab his jacket. Droog realized very quickly that Deuce was right to try to stop him, as a bullet landed square in his right bicep. A nonlethal shot, but also much more difficult than just aiming for his chest. The Inspector was showing off.

Droog dropped back behind the desk, taking a few breaths. He picked the phone back up.

“I honestly didn’t think you would do it,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be this team’s sniper if I couldn’t shoot anyone,” the Inspector responded.

Deuce was already looking over the damage to Droog’s arm. Deuce was the healer of the team. Each of their magics were unique, and each of them had types of magic in which they excelled. Droog could heal wounds a little bit, but Deuce was the master. Droog was confident that his arm would be usable soon enough.

“I thought you hated bloodshed,” Droog said.

“I do.” He seemed earnest. “But you’re a dangerous criminal and you’re trying to commit a crime. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to.”

“Flawless logic, as always.” Deuce started healing Droog’s arm. The healing process didn’t exactly feel pleasant. In fact, it felt a lot like being on fire.

“And honestly, Droog.” The Inspector sounded exasperated. “I’m sick of you treating me like I’m helpless.”

Droog made an effort to keep his voice even, despite the pain. Ugh, this suit was ruined. He’d make the Inspector pay for that. “Your point has been made quite clear.”

There was a moment of silence between them, filled only with Deuce telling Droog to sit still, and the sound of Slick yelling over the radio at Boxcars to _Get your fat ass over here, now!_ And Boxcars replying with _I’m a li’l busy here, boss, y’ mind?_

The Inspector finally broke the silence with, “Innovator told me that it was Deuce who opened the Rift.”

Deuce finished healing Droog, and looked away upon hearing Pickle. Droog patted Deuce’s arm, and then flashed some hand signals at him once the smaller Dersite looked back at him.

“Five minute healing time,” Droog said, to the Inspector.

“Noted,” the sniper replied. “I’ll shoot somewhere more vital next time.”

“I know we have a mess to clean up.” While Droog spoke, Deuce pulled some firecrackers from his pockets. He lit the fuses. “That’s why I’m here, to clean up messes.”

“You’ll have an easier time cleaning things up if you keep me in the loop.”

Deuce tossed the firecrackers into the air in multiple directions. They all went off, showering the room in light and smoke. Under that distraction, Droog made another barrier, allowing Deuce to make a run for it, to the stairs to rejoin the rest of the team. The Inspector tsk’ed into the receiver.

“It seems you believe we’re on the same side,” Droog said, as though nothing had just happened. “While you have me gunned down.”

“We’re not on the same side _today_ , no,” the Inspector said, and he sounded thoughtful. He was probably considering whether to continue focusing on Droog or to train his scope on the rest of the Crew instead. Droog knew what he would decide. The Inspector could never resist him. “But in terms of keeping this city stable and the universe in one piece, I certainly hope we’re on the same side.”

“Yes. In that aspect, we’re on the same side,” Droog agreed, and then added, “The Rift is our responsibility.”

“Yes. So keep me involved in--”

“Ours as in, the Crew’s,” Droog interrupted. “Now that we know Deuce is the one who caused it, we’re the ones who are going to fix it.”

“No,” the Inspector insisted. “You’re going to have Innovator fix it. So there’s no reason to keep me out.”

Droog sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We are going to fix the Rift.”

“Fine. Then I’ll just wait for you to come to me, complaining that you need my help. Or, more likely.” He was clearly getting agitated by Droog’s refusal to cooperate. “I’ll wait for Innovator to tell me all about how whatever you’re doing isn’t working. We’ve been talking, you know.”

This was good. The Inspector was completely focused on having this conversation, which meant that Droog’s crewmates were free to handle the rest of Team Sleuth without suppressing fire. From the sounds of it, Ace was down and Boxcars and Deuce were on their way to assist Slick.

“I did not, actually,” Droog said, keeping this going. “How?”

“With _words_ , like normal people. He’s a lot like me. When you get past the, you know. Being creepy and everything.”

“And also corrupted,” Droog added.

“Also that. But the point is, he’ll let me know what’s going on.”

“I have a feeling he doesn’t have a high opinion of any of us,” Droog mused.

“He doesn’t, no.”

Droog listened to his radio for a moment. The Crew was out of the building, and on their way to the van. “Don’t shoot me, and I’ll do it.”

“You’ll keep me in the loop?”

“You will be the second person I report to.” The first was always Slick.

“I appreciate that. Thank you,” the Inspector said, cheerfully, before returning to his business voice. “Although again, I’m keeping you pinned so the police can arrive.”

Droog continued to listen to his radio. Not long now.

“It’s okay though,” the Inspector added. “I can hear the sirens now.”

“Is putting us in jail the answer to all of this?” Droog asked. “If we’re in prison, we can’t close the rift.”

The Inspector paused, then let out a sigh. “The charges never stick anyway.”

“I appreciate your understanding.” Droog put his radio back in his jacket. He could hear the van. “I believe I have a van to catch.”

“I still have to shoot you, Droog!” Pickle insisted. “I have to look like I’m trying.”

“Back right shoulderblade,” Droog suggested. “More vital, but less healing time.”

“Understood.” Pickle ended the call.

Droog put his phone back in his pocket, then made a run for it. As expected, Pickle made the shot, hitting Droog exactly where he was told to. It hurt like a bitch, but it wasn’t anything Droog hadn’t experienced before.

By the time Droog got the van door open, Slick was already screaming at him.

\------

Droog greeted the Inspector the next day by kicking the detective’s door down.

Pickle Inspector was trying to balance a fidget spinner on his nose, and at the noise of the door flying open, he jolted. The spinner landed in Pickle’s eye, causing him to yelp in surprise. Droog wasn’t even a little bit surprised to find the Inspector doing something so undignified.

“You shot me,” Droog said.

The Inspector paled. He let the spinner fall off his face. “Uh. We--ell, you’re okay now?”

“You shot me _twice,_ ” Droog said, more forcefully.

The Inspector looked away, and back again. “I hhhhhhad to, though?”

Droog walked over. With one fluid motion he pulled the Ace of Diamonds from his sleeve, flipped it into the Ultraviolence Cuestick, pulled it back and hit the Inspector in the gut with the blunt end. Pickle Inspector doubled over, coughing.

“Oh---oh c-come on!”

“I understand the importance of making a point.” Droog crouched down to be near eye level with the Inspector. “But the point you made ruined a perfectly good suit.”

The Inspector rubbed his eyes. “Well you--you should stop wearing good suits to robberies!”

“All of my suits are good suits.” Droog grabbed the Inspector by the collar. He stood up, and in doing so, pulled Pickle Inspector off of the couch. He was disgusted at how much the Inspector was flinching. “Tell me, Inspector. Why do I find you so much more appealing when you’re actively trying to kill me?”

The flinching stopped. Pickle Inspector’s eyes went wide, ogling Droog with disconcerting intensity. “I--I don’t kn-know?”

Droog’s grip on the Inspector’s collar tightened. “How is it that the most competent sniper in the city, one who has hit me, _twice_ , can be such a stuttering mess when not behind the scope?”

The Inspector averted his gaze.  “It’s the--the only thing I can do well, I guess.”

Droog was vaguely aware that Pickle Inspector’s skills, and his personality shift while employing those skills, were some sort of sore spot for him. Some sob story about the war. One would think being a successful soldier would lend itself to being a more confident person, but then, Droog knew fuckall about how feelings work.

He let go of the Inspector’s collar. Pickle Inspector slumped back onto the couch.

“You’re paying for that jacket,” he said.

“Y--You know I c-can’t afford the sort of clothes you wear,” the Inspector mumbled, straighening out his collar.

“I didn’t say anything about paying for them in cash.”

Pickle’s head snapped up, looking Droog in the eye again. He said, “Uh?”

Droog took a card from his lapel pocket, stowed behind his tidy little pocket square. He handed it to the Inspector, who looked it over and found an address written on it.

“Uhhh?” he said again.

“Tomorrow at 9 PM, sharp,” Droog said, straightening out his suit. “Bring your rifle.”

The Inspector shook his head, then looked back up at Droog with worry written all over his face. “I--I don’t--I don’t know what this is about but, but I can’t just--”

“You can, and you will,” Droog said. He almost sounded amused. “It’s a shooting range. Guns are welcome.”

“Oh.” Pickle relaxed. “Okay.”

“And Inspector,” Droog said, undoing a jacket button to better lean over the Inspector. “The next time you get jealous over a relationship that doesn’t exist, don’t take it out on someone who always gets revenge.”

Pickle Inspector’s face flushed red. “I--! I’m not--!”

“Yes, you are,” Droog said. “And it is terribly obvious.”

“I just…” Pickle Inspector looked away, and his voice sounded pathetic. “I wanted to make a point. That’s all.”

“The point that you can kill me, which has been noted.” Droog leaned an arm against the couch, so he could better invade the Inspector’s personal space. “But, Pickle Inspector, I am much more inclined to kill you at any given moment. So making me your target was a mistake.”

The Inspector was quiet for a moment, but Droog could see the flutterings of his eyes moving that gave away the fact that he was thinking about something. Then he finally said, quietly, “I just… I don’t think…” The Inspector looked back up to meet the mobster’s eyes. “I don’t think you would kill me.” He paused again, then looked a little more panicked and made some shaky hand motions. “I mean!! Not so say that that’s a bad thing! I just--” He took a deep breath. “I just think you have more self-control than that.”

Droog nodded his head to the side as he thought about it. “Hm. An accurate enough statement. I do have enough control to prevent myself from killing you.”

Droog waited just long enough for the Inspector to feel at ease, and then he continued. “ _However.”_ Droog’s hand shot forward, grabbing the Inspector by the throat. He pushed Pickle Inspector into the back of the couch, squeezing the air out of his long, frail neck. “Hurting you? Bruising you? Scarring you? I am not above that.”

The Inspector let out aborted gasps, trying desperately to bring in air and failing. His hands scrabbled at Droog’s, trying to pull them free, trying to make this stop. Droog took a terrible sort of pleasure at the sight of it.

“You may be my partner in this endeavor with the city and the Rift,” Droog said, calmly. “But don’t forget for a second, Inspector, that you and I are still on the opposite side of the law. There is nothing stopping me from breaking you before this is all over.”

Pickle Inspector’s face took on a blue color as he dug his nails into Droog’s hand.

“If you think that you can get out of this unscathed,” Droog added, “You are gravely mistaken.”

With that, Droog let the Inspector go. The detective gasped and coughed, trying to catch his breath. Droog straightened out and looked his hand over. The Inspector hadn’t even been able to break the skin with his scratching. Pitiful.

“Nine PM sharp,” Droog said again, re-buttoning his jacket.

“R--right,” Pickle Inspector wheezed. “Yes.”

“Tardiness will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?”

The Inspector nodded.

“Good.” Droog patted the Inspector on the shoulder. He recoiled at the touch. “I look forward to seeing what you’re capable of. Since, as you say, you are sick of me treating you like you’re helpless.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint,” Pickle said, looking at the floor.

“I certainly hope you don’t.”

Droog teleported out. He didn’t even bother trying to fix the door he ruined.

\------

The pink moon was full and large in the sky, making this a fairly well-lit night. That worked well for what Droog had planned. He was out there for a good while before the Inspector was supposed to arrive, setting things up. The Inspector almost arrived on time. He had a rifle case slung over his shoulder, was wearing an old Prospitian army scarf, and looked like he ran the entire way.

“You’re late,” Droog said, looking at his watch. It was 9:01.

Pickle doubled over, catching his breath. He shook his head. “No I’m not, I’m--” He looked at his watch. “Oh.”

“You could have taken a cab,” Droog said.

“D--do you--” Pickle took a couple breaths. “Do you know h-how much fare is?”

Droog was the second richest man in Midnight City, and had never set foot in a taxi. The thought of it was frankly disgusting.

“No,” he said.

“It’s too much, okay!” The Inspector straightened up, re-adjusting the strap on his rifle case.

“Of course it is.” Droog wondered if it was actually expensive, or if the Inspector was just that poor. He figured it was probably the latter. “I commend the accessory.” He gave a subtle nod at the scarf.

The Inspector put a hand over the scarf, a white-and-grey striped affair, with the Prospitian emblem embroidered on the end. He looked embarrassed. “Oh, uh. Th-thanks.”

“Do you know why I called you here, Inspector?”

The Inspector shrugged. “T-to be difficult, I assume.”

“Cheeky.” Droog wasn’t amused. “I called you here to test you. Give me your gun.”

The Inspector shifted, holding the strap to his rifle case more tightly. “I uh--I d-don’t like other people touching it.”

Droog held his hand out. “I’m not going to take it out of the case.”

The detective looked at Droog’s hand, then his face, then back at his hand. He looked skeptical. Regardless, he took the case off of his back and gave it to Droog. Droog didn’t bother with the back strap, taking the case by its handle. He turned and lead the Inspector to the nearest warehouse. There was a rusted old staircase on the outside of the warehouse leading to the roof, two stories up. They ascended the stairs. The warehouse had a good clear view of the rest of the area, which was mostly other warehouses--a perfect location to practice shooting distant targets.

There was a table set up. There were six different cards on it. The Inspector looked at the table, and the cards, and around at the rest of his surroundings.

“So. I assume you have targets set up,” he said.

“Sixteen, to be exact,” Droog said.

The Inspector smiled a little. “Only that many?”

Droog was glad to see that he was so confident. He motioned towards the cards on the table. “I hope you’re comfortable with using weapons besides your own, Inspector. Because the card you choose will be the one you use.”

The Inspector’s smile disappeared. “Are--are you kidding me?”

“I most certainly am not. You’ve shown incredible aptitude with a weapon you’re familiar with.” Droog gestured at the rifle case. “Which is why for this test, you won’t be using it. You claim to be the best sniper in the city. Prove it.”

“Why d-did you ask me to bring my gun in the first place?”

“Collateral.” He finally slung the case over his shoulder. He planned to hold onto it for a while. “If you fail this test, your gun is mine.”

The Inspector looked more irritated than worried. He walked to the table, and lifted a card without looking at it. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Inspector flipped the card, which turned out to be a handgun. Not an ideal weapon for sniping. He turned it in his hand, considering its weight.

“I apologize if this isn’t what you had initially planned on happening on our first date,” Droog said.

Pickle aimed the gun near Droog, finger off the trigger, inspecting its sights. “It’s n-not exactly romantic. Two out of ten.”

“Foreplay is just as important as the final result, Inspector.”

The Inspector stopped looking the sights over, apparently appeased. “I’m inclined to think you’re a tease.”

“Possibly.” Droog brought the Inspector’s attention back to the sniping range. “There are fifteen playing cards colored to match the landscape. You should be able to see them all from this rooftop. Shoot them all within the next half hour and I’ll reveal the sixteenth’s location.”

The Inspector still didn’t look worried. “All right.”

“Sixteen bullets, sixteen shots.” Droog looked at his watch. “Your time starts now.”

The Inspector got started. He walked a circle around the roof, surveying his surroundings, before methodically picking vantage points, lining up shots, and shooting each target. He was careful about each shot, but not slow. Droog imagined what the Inspector must have been like on the Battlefield, doing this same thing, but on living targets. When people talked about the horrors of war, people like him were what they were talking about.

There were three minutes left on the clock when the Inspector hit the last target. He turned to Droog.

“Where’s the final card?”

Droog put the rifle case down. “You almost sound bored. Disappointed.”

The detective shrugged. “A little bit.”

“Of course you would be.” Droog took a couple steps toward the Inspector. “Shooting stationary targets is a bore. That’s why this last one--” He pulled the two of diamonds from his sleeve. “--Will be mobile.”

Droog flipped the card into his cuestick and rushed the Detective. The Inspector acted on instinct--he aimed and shot. All he got was the dull click of an empty magazine.

Droog stopped. The gun was aimed square at his chest. Had there been a bullet in the chamber, Droog would be dead.

“Well,” he said, flipping the cuestick back into a card. “I didn’t think you would go that far.”

The Inspector was shaking. “Y--you startled me!”

“Of course, you’ve shot me before,” Droog mused. “This time is no different, I suppose. Your reaction time is incredible.”

“I c-could have k-killed you!” He wasn’t bragging this time. He was genuinely freaked out about it.

Droog slipped the two of diamonds back into his sleeve. He walked to the Inspector, leaning in close.

“Yes,” he said. “You could have.”

The Inspector furrowed his brow, looking everywhere but at Droog. “Uh. Droog. What.”

“Is the point you were trying to make driving home yet?”

Pickle shook his head. “N--no, nevermind, I’m done.”

Droog didn’t back off. “Why do you think, all this time, I’ve been ignoring you? Leaving you out, looking down on you.”

The Inspector flipped the handgun back to a card, absently. “Y--you, you thought I was weak.”

“You are the smartest man in the city. You fought in the war, you’re an incredible sniper and you’re directly connected to the entire Universe,” Droog said. His eyes could burn holes in the Inspector. “Your first instinct when rushed was to shoot to kill. When pushed to your limits, you are capable of incredible things.”

The Inspector was still shaking, but he was making eye contact now. His breaths were rapid, shallow.

Droog continued. “I have never once doubted your abilities, Inspector. I have only wished to see them more. After all, you’re my direct foil in this charade. What kind of enemy would I be if I didn’t push you to your limit?”

Droog grabbed the Inspector’s collar, pulling him down so that their faces were close. “You wanted my attention, Pickle Inspector? You’ve had it this entire time.”

The Inspector’s face flushed a deep red. He stammered, but failed to put any actual words together. Droog decided to keep talking, since the Inspector couldn’t.

“The reason I pushed you away is because I didn’t want you to bother me,” he explained. “I’m not sure what Innovator told you, or what you have been scheming behind my back, but know this.” He tightened his grip on the detective’s collar. He was practically growling his words. “We are not friends. We are not comrades. You are the law and I am a criminal, and this is a dance that only the two of us can play. You are not weak. You are, in fact, too much. And that’s why I will be the one to obliterate you.”

Droog let go of the Inspector and took a step back, turning away.

“I’m keeping your gun,” he added, as an afterthought. “You were late.”

The next thing he knew, the Inspector was shoving him, screaming, “ _You ass!_ ”

Droog turned to face him again. He’d never heard the Inspector curse before, and this was a baffling development.

“I’m not--I haven’t been trying to, to invite you to fight me, or--or flirt black, or anything like that! That isn’t what this is!” He pointed a finger at his rifle case. “And you are _not_ taking my gun!”

Droog blinked at the Inspector. “Then what are you trying to accomplish?”

The Inspector opened his mouth to speak, stopped, tried again, stopped again, and sighed. He looked away and held the card out. “It doesn’t matter. Give me my gun.”

Droog snatched the card out of his hand. “It does matter. If this is not what you’ve been trying to achieve, then enlighten me.”

Pickle shook his head, his shoulders tensing. He glared back up at Droog. “H--how are you so brilliant and still so dense?!”

“Excuse me?”

“Just--just give me my gun,” the Inspector demanded. “And I’ll go home, a-a-a-and we can just, just pretend this never happened.”

Droog put the card in his jacket pocket. Then he snapped his fingers. Shadows shot out of the ground under the rifle case, wrapping around it and suspending it in the air.

“R--rude!” the Inspector shouted.

Droog was radiating shadow magic. This went all wrong. He thought he had figured the Inspector out, and now not only was he wrong, but the Inspector wasn’t giving any answers. He wasn’t going to let him go until he knew what was going on. “ _Talk._ ”

The Inspector rubbed his face, looking like he might cry. Or scream. Or both. “I’m--” he said, and then stopped for a moment before continuing. “I’m. In love with you.”

The magic radiating off of Droog dissipated. “What.”

“Like I said,” Pickle said, avoiding Droog’s gaze. “Let’s--let’s forget this happened.”

“Interesting,” Droog said. He looked at the rifle case, considered it, and decided to leave it suspended. “No, I don’t believe I shall. In _love_ with me? Why?”

The Inspector chuckled at that, bitterly, crossing his arms. “I ask myself that a lot, too.”

Droog tried to wrap his mind around the idea. Dersites didn’t have a concept of positive emotional attachment. It was repressed in their society, ostracised. They were a culture who worshipped destruction and war, so obviously they were encouraged more toward kismessitude than matespritship. He knew other Dersites who could love, so he knew it was possible--Deuce and Boxcars were an example--but he’d never imagined himself the target of such feelings. How could the Inspector feel this way and not even have a rationale for it? What the hell was this?

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“I know you don’t,” the Inspector said, and he sounded… tired? No, that wasn’t it. “It’s… fine. I was stupid to, to try and force the subject.”

Droog carefully dropped the gun case back to its place on the ground. He picked it up and brought it to the Inspector.

“Take it,” he said. “It’s your prize.”

The Inspector took it, and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s a prize that belonged to me in the first place.”

“I apologize for interrupting your otherwise busy schedule.” Droog’s voice was different. Contemplative. He wasn’t even looking at the Inspector anymore. He’d turned to collect the cards still sitting out on the table. “It seems as though this meeting was truly unnecessary.”

“Y--yeah.” Pickle fidgeted. He adjusted his scarf, fixed his collar. “Uh. H--have a good night, Droog.”

“And you, as well,” Droog replied without looking up.

Pickle sighed, and then left. Droog listened to his steps descending the stairs, and then fading away into the city streets. He stood there, shuffling the cards back into his deck, and stopped on the gun that Pickle had used. He flipped it back into a gun and stared at it.

“He could have killed me,” he said to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.


	4. Chapter 4

**> Continue being DD, but in the present day.**

Innovator was conspicuously absent. This stood out to Droog, because Innovator hadn’t left him alone since he joined the Twilight Scoundrels. Innovator didn’t talk to Droog much, and mostly left him to his business, but he was always around. Watching. Judging.

The reason for Innovator’s absence became clear when there was a knock on the safehouse’s front door, and Pickle Inspector was on the other side. He was carrying a clear plastic bag, with little pink flowers printed on it, filled with cookies.

“H--hello,” he stammered. “Um. May I come in?”

Droog considered slamming the door in his face. Instead he stepped out of the way, allowing the Inspector to come inside. Droog closed the door behind him.

“Did Sleuth tell you to speak to me, or Innovator?” he asked.

“Both,” the Inspector said, putting the bag of cookies on the coffee table. “Deuce too. I’ll make some tea.”

Droog pinched the bridge of his nose as the Inspector walked to a counter at the back of the room where there was a sink--the business this building was converted from must have been a restaurant of sorts, because there were sinks in a lot of places--and an an electric kettle.

“Of course he did.”

The Inspector filled the kettle with water, put it on, and set about looking through Innovator’s collection of teas. “I d-don’t really… I’m not here to bring you back.”

“Oh. That’s…” Droog paused. “That’s not surprising at all, actually.”

“I know what Slick is like, especially lately. I d-don’t blame you.” The Inspector put a spoonful of tea leaves into an infuser, and then two spoonfuls of a different type of tea leaves. He set the infuser into a teapot. “I’m just somewhat concerned.”

“What’s there to be concerned about?” Droog sat down on the couch, crossing his legs so that one ankle was on his knee. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Th--that’s what I’m afraid of, yes.” The kettle clicked off. The Inspector poured water into the teapot, then put the lid on. “I just d-don’t see you doing this without having a plan.”

Droog rolled his eyes. “I have a plan. The plan was to leave Midnight City, and I’ve done it.”

Pickle let out a soft “mmhmm”, as he collected a pair of spoons and a bowl of sugar cubes and set them on the coffee table. “And what are you going to do now? Will you be content to work for--for the Scoundrels, of all people?”

“I’m happier than I was,” Droog said.

“That isn’t an answer.” Pickle opened some cabinets before finding a mini-fridge hiding in one. He opened it and found a small carton of milk, which he also put on the table.

“Yes, it is.”

“Droog, I know you.” The Inspector walked back to the counter and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. “You don’t act without purpose. You have something b-bigger in store.”

“What if I do?” Droog asked. “What if, hypothetically speaking, I am planning something bigger than what I’m doing?”

Pickle took the teapot in one hand, and a pair of teacups in another. He set them both on the table. “Then I--I will continue to be concerned.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“It matters because it’s,” he took a breath, and poured tea into the cups. “Because it’s _you_.”

“And?”

“And I care about what you do!”

“So do Sleuth and Slick and Deuce.”

The Inspector put the teapot down. “That isn’t the same.”

Droog didn’t reply. He took a teacup and drank, without bothering with milk or sugar. He never took either.

Pickle dropped two sugar cubes into his tea, as well as a bit of milk. He stirred it. “Also I. I’m a little worried about--about you spending so much time with the Scoundrels considering, uh. How close they are with the. The Noble Circle.”

“I don’t see that as a negative.”

Pickle sat down in an armchair adjacent to the couch. “Of course,” he said, exasperated.

“I’m just as close to the Terrors as they are,” Droog said, before taking another sip of tea.

“And that’s a problem.” Pickle put his teacup down and reached for the bag of cookies. He held one out for him.

“I’ve always been close to the Terrors,” Droog said, accepting a cookie out of courtesy. “I’ve never seen it as a problem.”

“It’s n-not good for you,” the Inspector said, taking a cookie for himself and waggling it at him. “Why can’t you just, just play it safe, for once?”

“Because safe is boring.” Droog took a bite of the cookie. He wasn’t much of a sweets person, but Pickle Inspector was good at baking.

It struck him that he would miss the Inspector’s baking, once the Rift was closed. It also struck him as a pointless thought, because the Rift was going to close. Why bother thinking about it?

“Boring, maybe, but it comes with the ad--advantage of not getting controlled by horrible m-monsters from outside the Universe.” Pickle ate his cookie.

“I am not controlled by the terrors,” Droog said. “I control the shadows, not the other way around.”

“I know Th-They want you to think that, yes.”

“I talk to Them, They give me Their power,” Droog explained, getting annoyed that the Inspector didn’t understand this. “That’s how this works.”

“In exchange for what?” Pickle asked, over the rim of his teacup. “They don’t just, just give favors away.”

Droog leaned forward. “Have you talked to Them? You sound like you have experience.”

The Inspector shrugged, lowering his teacup. “Sssssort of.”

“You’re correct, though,” Droog said. “I do give them one thing.”

“A--and what’s that?”

“My sight.”

The Inspector put his teacup on the table. “What do you m-mean?”

“In my recent dealings with the Terrors, They have asked only one thing of me.” He gestured at his face. “To see the world the way I see it. To know what it looks like, the people in it, the way it works. In exchange for Their power, I give Them access to my eyes for brief periods.”

Pickle Inspector tensed. He looked at Droog with a level of horror Droog had never seen before--and that was saying something, because the detective was usually horrified by Droog. He looked as though ready to flee at a moment’s notice. “Wh--when. When did you make this deal?”

“Shortly before I came here,” Droog said. “You were right. I do have… ambitions.”

“I don’t think you realize th-the, the r-r-ramifications of that.”

“On the contrary,” Droog said, folding his hands in his lap. “I know exactly, and I welcome it.” He smirked. “After all, what’s life without a little risk-taking?”

The Inspector stood, clenching his fists. “Y--you’re risking more than your own life, Droog! You’re risking _everything!_ ”

Droog rolled his eyes. “Inspector. If They wanted to take over, They’d have done it by now. The fact that They haven’t is proof enough that They won’t.”

The Inspector shook his head, his hands shaking. “N-no. It’s not--It isn’t that simple. They’re not, not impatient. They’re eternal. Timeless. They will move when They have the opportunity, and no sooner. You can’t--you can’t just, just go and make things easier for Them!”

“They have a tighter grip on this world,” Droog said. “Probably because of the Scoundrels. And yet it’s all still standing.”

“Th--They need a--a way in, f-from the inside, that’s how this works,” Pickle tried to explain. “They work slowly, trying to lead their victims down the path of…”

“They’re not going to get in,” Droog said, dismissive. He reached for his tea. “They’re going to sit and do nothing, as They’ve always done.”

Pickle threw his arms up in the air. “You don’t know anything!”

“And you do?” Droog drank his tea.

“Yes.”

“You.” Droog lowered the cup. “ _You_ know more about the Terrors than I do?”

“I’m the Universe, Droog!” Pickle shouted, motioning towards himself. “They’re at My borders, every minute of every day!”

Droog held up a finger, putting his cup on the table. “Are you saying. That you’re actively, sentiently aware of what’s at the borders of the Universe? That you’re actually _connected_ to the Godhead? It’s not just a vague sort of, you being able to sense your part-pickles but an actual, direct connection to GPI?”

“It’s…” Pickle shrunk back, slouching. “It’s complicated.”

Droog was sitting at attention. His eyebrows were raised, his shoulders square. This was new information, and he needed to act on it. “This changes everything.”

The Inspector covered his mouth with his hands. “I--I should l-l-leave.”

Pickle moved towards the door. Droog snapped a finger, and all ten of the door’s latches slammed into the locked position. The Inspector gasped, and tried to fumble them open. They wouldn’t budge. He pulled on the door uselessly.

“Droog, no.”

“This entire time, the answer I was looking for was right under my nose.” Droog said. “Had I known the connection was so strong, I would have treated you much differently in the past. Here you’re connected to the most powerful being in our Universe and you’re still… you.”

“P--please let me go,” Pickle said, trembling.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Inspector.” Droog motioned at the chair the Inspector had been sitting in. “Please, sit. I just want to ask you one question. One question, and you’re free to go.”

Pickle hesitated, looking back and forth between the door and Droog. Then he sighed and slumped back into the chair.

“Your answer will help me figure out what I’m going to do,” Droog explained. “So please, be as detailed as possible.”

“Wh-what’s the question?” Pickle asked, defeated.

Droog folded his hands again, and the question didn’t come out harsh or dark, like Droog normally sounded. He sounded genuinely curious. Maybe even a little hopeful.

“What’s it _like_?”

The Inspector sat there for a moment, staring at Droog. Then he looked away, furrowing his brow, considering his response.

“It’ssssss.” He stopped.

“It’s…?”

He shook his head. “Th--there aren’t words.”

“Surely there must be,” Droog said.

“H--human language was never devised with the ability to. To convey this sort of thing. The, the human brain n-never evolved the capacity to con-conceptualize it,” the Inspector said, almost frantic. Then he took a breath and said, slower, “Just the… the vastness of it. The scope. Space. Time. The world we see, hidden dimensions going off in directions we can’t comprehend, the in-n-nexorable march into entropy. All the… the multitudes of what’s in it, stars, planets, people, it’s just…”

Pickle motioned with both his hands, holding them out as far as they’ll go, bony fingers stretching. “It’s huge!” Then he let his arms fall. “It’s huge, and incomprehensible, and I’m all of it.”

Droog was enthralled. “But how does it feel? Knowing everything. _Being_ everything.”

Pickle shook his head. “It--I---I can’t.” He put his head in his hands, still shaking it. “I’m, I’m just a person, Droog, I c-c-can’t, it’s--it’s too much.”

Droog’s brows furrow. “What do you mean, you can’t?

Pickle took a breath, and looked at Droog.

“It _hurts_.”

Droog went quiet. He sat there for a moment, before grabbing another cookie. He said, “I see,” before eating it. He wasn’t looking at the Inspector anymore. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings at all. Finally he acknowledged the Inspector again to say, “Is that the reason you’re the way you are? Because it takes too much out of you?”

The Inspector looked a little offended. “N-no. No.” He looked away. “Maybe. I d-don’t know.”

Droog was quiet for a moment longer, then stood up, smoothed out his suit, and unlocked the ten locks on the door. By hand. The Inspector stood and followed him to the door.

“I apologize for keeping you,” Droog said.

“It. It’s fine. I hope my uh. Lousy insight was of use.”

“It was,” Droog said. “I have a lot to think about.”

Pickle nodded. “Whatever you do next, please be careful.”

“I think we’re well past the point of being careful,” Droog said. “I’m not exactly sure _what_ to do, now.”

“T-take your time.” Pickle forced a smile. “I’m s-sure it’ll come to you.”

“I’m not so sure.” Droog shook his head. “I had a plan of action. I had everything perfectly lined up, but if even someone with all the power of the Universe at his fingertips can’t handle it all, then…”

“That much power sounds great, until you actually have it,” Pickle said. He shrugged. “M--maybe, you know. Set your sights lower?”

Droog touched his chin, thinking. “Getting away from Slick was one problem I’ve managed to solve.”

“Yes!” Pickle said, sounding a little enthusiastic. “So that’s, that’s good.”

Droog nodded. “Thank you for coming to see me tonight.”

“I’m happy to help.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Droog said, and he actually meant it.

Pickle’s smile became real, and not the forced one it was before. “Let’s not even think of that.”

Droog opened the door. The two of them exchanged goodbyes. Droog closed and locked the door after Pickle, and returned to the couch. The teapot was still on the table, and Droog poured himself another cup. Might as well drink it before it got cold.

The Terrors were part of the universal life cycle. The end part, specifically. Just as the Game created new universes, the Terrors existed to destroy old ones. Droog’s Universe was, in the grand scheme of things, past due. It had already manifested the Game, its players had gone into the Incipisphere and made a new Universe. While it was certainly possible that the Game may manifest again and the Universe may again bear fruit, it wasn’t necessary.

The Inspector was right. Droog had been stupid to believe the Terrors when They told him they had no intention to enter the Universe yet. They had assured him that the Universe wasn’t ready, but he knew damn well it was.

They wouldn’t have let the Crew make their contracts in the first place if it wasn’t.

This was how They operated. They whispered to Their charges, They told them whatever they needed to hear to seek more power, let the Terrors gain more influence over them, until the day came when the poor sap could no longer resist Their call, and opened the Door.

Once the Door was open, the Universe was consumed, and returned to the quantum foam from which new Incipispheres, new Skaias, were formed.

It was a necessary and natural part of Paradox Space, and one that nobody cared to witness personally.

Not that Droog ever planned to open the Door. He wasn’t that far gone yet. He just… well. He’d always been fond of power. He’d always wondered what the limits of his dark powers were, and what those limits could be. Without Slick holding him back, in a new Universe full of people he didn’t care about… he could have done anything. He could _be_ anything. A god, even. The Scoundrels were so close to the Terrors, and he could have used them…

It was a stupid idea. This was stupid. He made a mistake.

\------

**> Be Problem Sleuth**

Ostensibly, Team Sleuth’s goal was to drive the various organized crime syndicates out of Midnight City. They had a vision of the City, one where it wasn’t run by corrupt police and bribed politicians, where businesses weren’t constantly being forced to pay protection money. Making that happen, though, was… complicated. And increasingly, Sleuth found himself meeting with the Crew on friendly terms.

Which is what he was doing currently.

It was late in the evening. Well past his usual business hours, but that was expected when dealing with people who call themselves the _Midnight_ Crew. Sleuth was at his desk. Hearts Boxcars and Clubs Deuce were in his client chairs. Ace Dick was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed.

“Gettin’ real sick’f these guys hangin’ around,” Ace grumbled.

“Cry some more,” Sleuth said, before returning his focus to their guests. “I ended up sendin’ Pickles.”

“Oh, so, whatcha shoulda done t’ begin with,” Boxcars replied.

“Eat my ass, I was tryin’a spare his feelin’s,” Sleuth said. He lit a cigarette, then offered his pack of smokes to his guests.

Deuce shook his head at the offer. “Pickle oughtta be able to do it, Droog listens t’ him.”

“You also gotta know there’s a real chance Droog still ain’t gonna go back to th’ Crew even if’n Pickle gets ‘im t’ come home.” Sleuth took a drag from his cigarette.

“So maybe get your dumbass boss under control,” Ace spat. He made grabby hands at Sleuth. Sleuth tossed him the cigarette pack.

“We’re tryin’!” Deuce said.

“He ain’t made it easy for us,” Boxcars added. “Fuckin’. Made a scene at the club last night. Decided to show off his fuckin’ ‘trick’ in front of all the patrons.”

“Everyone went screamin’ an’ left,” Deuce added.

“How th’ fuck does it work?” Sleuth asked. “Do y’ know?”

Boxcars shrugged. “He ain’t gave us specifics.”

“An’ I ain’t about to try it!” Deuce chirped. “I’m all for science ‘n all but I’m not doin’ that.”

“He said it was some kinda loophole,” Boxcars continued, waving his hand in a circular motion. “Gettin’ around Death or somethin’.”

That had Sleuth’s attention. “A loophole, huh?”

Ace lit a cigarette with a match, then shook the match out. “Oh there y’ go, Sleuth. Sounds right up your alley.”

“Y’ think you can work somethin’ out with Death?” Deuce asked, leaning forward and kicking his legs.

Ace threw the pack of cigarettes back to Sleuth, who caught it and put it back into his jacket pocket. “I’ll give it a shot. Can’t hurt, right?” Sleuth said.

Boxcars scratched his nose. “You want an’ honest answer to that?”

“Nah.” Sleuth waved the two mobsters away. “Y’ guys can go. I’ll call ya’ if’n I have anythin’ new.”

Boxcars and Deuce stood, their chairs whining as they were pushed slightly backward. Boxcars took Deuce’s hand and the two made their way to the door. Deuce turned his head back as he walked and waved. “Bye, good luck arguing with Death!!”

They closed the door behind them. Ace waited for the footsteps to fade away, then walked over to one of the chairs and sat. He took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled twin columns of smoke through his nostrils.

“Death’s still mad’t ya’ for fuckin’ up his scythe,” Ace said.

“He’ll get over it,” Sleuth said, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling.

“Y’ sure about that?”

Sleuth made a noncommittal noise.

“Well, if you fail ‘n Droog don’t get back with th’ Crew, ain’t really a huge deal for us,” Ace said, hooking an arm on the back of his chair.

“Yeah,” Sleuth said.

“I mean, ain’t a huge deal for me,” Ace said. “Then again, I dunno with you ‘n Pickle. Both’f you got real involved.”

“I ain’t involved,” Sleuth said, and he sounded more irritated than he should have been. “This’s jus’. Y’know. Tryin’a keep th’ city from fallin’ apart. Keepin’ th’ peace.”

“Yeah. ‘m sure that’s what it is.” Ace stood up, reached over and tapped his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m goin’ home. Try not t’ get killed.”

“I’ll do my very best,” Sleuth said.

Ace walked out of the office, grabbing his hat off the rack on his way out. Sleuth remained at his desk for a while, finishing his cigarette, before finally standing, collecting his things, and heading out into the dark night.


	5. Chapter 5

_Several more weeks before, but still not many…_

**> Be Diamonds Droog.**

Droog was out. Out of bullets, out of ideas, and he could sense Quarters closing in on him fast. Boxcars finally pulled out a Mace and clocked Sawbuck with it. God knows where--or when--he went after that swing. Deuce blew up a part of the second floor, leaving a hole in the ceiling above him. Clover got away, and Droog was taking shelter from Quarters’ minigun. It seemed to have an endless supply of bullets. He could be reversing the time on his minigun to replenish them, or something. Droog didn’t know and didn’t care. As long as he was doing more damage to the machines than him, then he was fine.

He kicked over a roulette table to shield himself from a barrage of bullets, cursing as several went high and nearly caught his hat. He had to think of a strategy. He had pistols on him, which were relatively useless when going up against an automatic, along with his spent machine guns in his deck which were big heavy ornaments now. He didn’t think he’d need as much ammo as he went through. He only kept twelve weapons on him at a time. Three slots for close combat weapons, four slots for guns, three slots for knives, one slot for his Ultraviolence Cuestick, and one for a--

Smoke bomb.

Droog flipped out the three of spades and chucked it behind him, satisfaction settling in when he heard Quarters curse as the area around him fogged. Droog took the moment to sink into the shadow of the roulette table below him and reappear outside in the alley next to the Casino. Once he regained his composure, he leaned against the wall in thought.

He could go back in. He could go back in, channel every ounce of shadow magic he had to block the minigun’s fire and burn Quarters to the ground. He could, but Clover was there, and if he flipped that shitty coin in his pocket they’d switch places and the little imp would be too lucky to kill.

Technically, he could set the whole place on fire if he wanted to, but the rest of his Crew was still in there, and the building was a core Felt operations point that they needed to control, not destroy. The bootlegging and counterfeit operation running in the basement was a big one, and they needed that leverage against the green assholes if they were going to start taking back the half of the city they lost in turf wars and underground gambling in the past few years.

Which reminded him.

He sunk back into the shadows of the building, reappearing in the lower level and surprising the four workers who were hiding from the brawl upstairs. He flipped out his pistol and quickly landed a bullet in each of their heads before they could retaliate.

He gave the room a once-over. There was one large skeletonized money printing machine alongside a second printer which seemed to be set up to print tags and labels mimicking some of the larger fashion brands in the city. The ones that the Crew didn’t control yet. He reached down to inspect the control panel of the machine and ran his hand over it. It was dusty, and everything around it was empty. The cache was empty, the system was wiped, and the only evidence it had done anything at all was the four men lying on the floor. He had to wonder, why go through all the trouble of having anyone down here when the machines weren’t on or operable?

The thought of it being a second trap sunk in just as Crowbar’s voice broke the silence.

“I thought I heard gunshots. I knew they weren’t ours.”

Droog turned around with his gun aimed at the green suit, but he paused once he registered what was in his hand. A sword. Slick’s sword. Covered in blood.

“Where’s Slick,” Droog demanded.

“Your midget of a boss got a bit ahead of himself,” Crowbar started. “I helped him take his mind offa things. Y’know, really gave him some time to rest…in pieces.”

He was lying. Droog wanted to believe he was lying, but the blood on the sword in his hand-- _Slick’s sword_ \--was enough to say otherwise. What had happened? Where the hell was Slick? He didn’t show it, but he was panicking.

Crowbar brought out a gun of his own, holstered in his jacket, and aimed right back at Droog.

“Now, here’s what I’m gonna do,” Crowbar said. “I killed your boss, I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna go upstairs and kill your little bomb-happy psychopath, and when your braindead muscle comes back from whenever the fuck Sawbuck teleported him off to, I’m gonna kill him t--”

A saber ran itself through his chest, cutting him off.

Silence hung in the air for three of the longest seconds of Droog’s life, and was pierced by a sharp, gravelly voice.

“Next time ya try t’ kill me, fuckin’ finish the job, asshole.”

Relief washed over Droog as his boss shoved the sword deeper through Crowbar’s chest, forcing him to drop the double edged sword he was holding. The look of horror on the red-tipped bastard’s face was something Droog knew he was going to remember for a very long time.

Crowbar spoke, broken and horrified.

“H-how?” His eyes were wide, as though he were looking at a ghost. “I….I cut off your head! You _died!_ ”

“Shut up and die already.” Slick looked around Crowbar at Droog. “Shoot him, for fucks sake!”

Droog didn’t hesitate. He put his remaining four bullets into Crowbar’s chest and watched his body go limp. Slick unsheathed the sword from the green torso and kicked the body forward. He flipped his saber back into a four of spades and pocketed it, picking up the Double Edged Sword and doing the same.

“Fucker tried t’ take my shit. Good thing yer fuckin’ dead or I’da killed you for it,” he said to the body, before angrily turning to Droog. “An’ what the _FUCK_ was _THAT_ about. You coulda had ‘im dead b’fore I got here, you fuckin’ idiot!”

Droog was stunned, momentarily, at what he’d just witnessed. The fear in Crowbar’s face was real, the sword was covered in blood that was obviously not his, and yet his boss was standing in front of him without a scratch on him. Almost as if he hadn’t fought at all. He came back to himself and approached Slick, carding his own spent gun.

“You’re asking me what the hell that was?!” He raised his voice, a rarity, but the situation called for an answer. “What the hell did I just see, Slick? He had your sword, covered in what I’m assuming is your blood, and said you were dead. What happened up there?”

“Shit happened, I’ll explain later.” He said, heading up the stairs behind him. “Right now we gotta get th’ fuck outta here.”

\-----

**> Be Hearts Boxcars.**

It took them all a while to get back from the casino. Most of the time was spent waiting for Boxcars to pop back into their timeline. Slick called a meeting the second he stepped through the door, telling them what happened between him and Crowbar. It left the crewmembers stunned until Droog spoke up.

“You _what._ ”

“I died, big deal."He waved him off "Th’ important thing is that I’m not dead anymore.”

“That is… absolute bullshit.” Droog countered.

Boxcars followed him, in mild disbelief. “Y’ can’t jus’ say ’big deal’ t’ somethin’ like that, damn.”

“Its hard to believe that Death would give you a pardon out of pity,” Droog continued. “You came back to life, all because you were accidentally decapitated?”

Slick shrugged.

The smallest member of the crew finally spoke up. “Izzit gonna happen again if you get your head cut off?”

“Huh.” Slick thought for a moment, scratching his chin and shrugging. “No clue. We c'n find out though.”

The Crew's voiced mingled with each other as they all voiced their protest. 

“Just because you had a lucky break once, doesn’t mean you’ll be just as lucky next time,” Droog argued.

Slick argued back. “One lucky shot helped us kill Crowbar.”

“Coincidentally!”

“Woulda killed ‘im faster if you'da fuckin shot him the first time.” Slick shot at him.

Droog frowned. “He was holding your sword, covered in blood, claiming you were dead. Forgive me for being taken a bit off guard.”

Slick growled and stepped forward. “Don’t turn into a bleedin’ heart on me, you son of a bitch.”

Boxcars stepped between them, hands out to keep it from escalating. “Y’ can’t really bitch, boss, seein' as you hadta get killed b'fore y’ took 'im down.”

Slick growled at him. “I was doin’ jus’ fine b'fore he grabbed my sword.”

“You could have burned him.” Droog started back up “You could have pulled a gun on him. You could have done _literally anything else_.”

“Shit don’t matter now,” Slick spat back. “I’m alive, jerkass. Deal with it.”

“Guys c’mon, quit fightin’.” Deuce tried to step between them too. “Boxcars, break 'em up before someone gets hurt.”

Hearts nodded at him and picked Slick up in a bear hug, limiting his movements. He did it often when their boss got too riled up. Most of the time it worked. “How’s about y’ cool it on th’ killin’ yourself talk 'n we move off this topic?”

Deuce raised his hand. “I think we need ta focus on Crowbar bein’ dead, and also the Rift, ‘cause thats a thing that still exists.”

“No,” Droog corrected him. “We need to focus on how and why they were so well prepared for us.”

Slick growled and struggled in Boxcars grasp. “Who the **_FUCK_ ** put you in charge ‘a this meetin’?! Hearts, I’ll cut yer eyes out an’ feed 'em to Deuce if y'don’t put me the fuck down.”

Boxcars squeezed harder. “See, th’ longer y’ talk like that, th’ longer y’ stay like this.”

“I’ll talk however the fuck I wanna talk. I’m yer _goddamn boss_.”

“And you’re throwing a tantrum like a three year old.” Droog walked around to the other side of the billiards table they kept in the middle of the meeting room. “You need to calm down and we need to think. How did they know we were coming?”

“An how’d they know we were comin’ _tonight_?” Deuce added.

“Fuck if I know,” Slick spat. “It’s probably the bitch’s fault.”

Boxcars raised an eyebrow. “'n how’d she know?”

Slick grew fidgety. “Probably fuckin’… teleported in here while we were gone 'r some shit.”

They all knew that tone. That was the tone that Slick used when he was trying to lie. Droog stood straight. “Slick. Do you know something we don’t?”

He scoffed, but met his eyes anyway. “I know a lotta shit you don’t.”

Boxcars squeezed him again. “Quit dodgin’, boss.”

“Fuck! Shit, alright.” He coughed once as Boxcars loosened his grip slightly. “She was here. God damn.”

Droog narrowed his eyes. “When.”

Slick huffed, still struggling. “Th’ night we went t’ the other city. Through th’ Rift.”

“That was like… Tuesday though,” Deuce added.

“Monday,” Droog corrected him. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

Slick defended himself. “I didn’ think she knew anythin’! Christ. The bitch popped in, told me about goin’ over t'the Rift 'n shit, an popped out. That’s it.”

“And in that time she learned about our planned ambush?” Droog pushed.

“I didn’ say shit.”

“We’re not sayin’ ya did, Boss,” Deuce chimed in. “But if that kinda stuff happens you gotta be honest with us about it or stuff like tonight happens. And you die. Like… actually die. Not die an’ come back to life ‘cause of an accident.”

“I don’ have ta tell all a you ev'rythin’ that goes on with my shit,” Slick protested. “’s personal business.”

“Your ‘personal business’ almost got all of us killed,” Droog argued back, gesturing to the crew. “Is that what you want? You want to be reckless and lose us all?”

“What I want is fer you ta stop questionin’ me an’ ta be let th’ fuck go,” Slick spat. “I’m. Your. Boss. I don’t tell you evrythin’ fer a reason. You don’t have ta know ev'rythin’ that goes on with me.”

“Well if you have to keep reminding us that you’re in charge, maybe you’re not doing a very good job at it.” Droog shot back.

-

Silence hung in the air for a tense minute. Slick was furious, Droog was aggravated, and Boxcars and Deuce were just trying to prevent this from blowing out of proportion. Slick sneered at him, and then resorted to teleporting out of Boxcars’ grasp, right in front of Droog.

“You shoulda gave better intel.”

Droog leered over him, unphased by his authority or his scowl. “Don’t blame this on me when _you’re_ the one who let them gain the upper hand.”

“If you'da jus’ done yer damn job right in th’ first place instead 'a 'oh, itchy might be there’ bullshit, maybe none a this woulda happened!” Slick growled at him. They were right in each other’s faces. “You got one fuckin’ thing right though, Crowbar was there, an’ now he’s dead. Thanks t’ me. So ‘s far ‘s I’m concerned _you’re_ the one who fucked up.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Droog huffed and stormed out of the room. The three remaining members heard the manhole cover open and close.

They all stood there in silence for a few seconds before Deuce spoke up. “Boss….are you feelin’ okay? You’re more pissed than normal.”

“’m always this pissed.”

His answer was short. Too quipped. Boxcars frowned.“Nah, y’ usually calm down when I holdja that long.”

Slick turned to him. “I’d be calm if y’ laid th’ fuck off.”

“Why’re you so mad at Droog?” Deuce continued, worrying the edge of his hat as he took it off his head.. “He didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

Slick wasn’t budging. “He did ev'rythin’ wrong, an he’s been doin’ shit wrong ever since that fuckin’ portal opened up!”

Boxcars frowned. “That ain’t true 'n y’ damn well know it.”

“You two know what he’s like, struttin’ around like tough shit, makin’ pretend he’s th’ one in charge.” Slick went off. “Givin’ out orders an’ questionin’ me. ’s startin’ ta piss me off. His high an’ mighty attitude’s the problem here, not me. I’m jus’ tryin’ t’do my best.”

Boxcars and Deuce watched as he walked to the door leading out to the rest of the base before stopping and turning back to them.

“We killed Crowbar t'night,” he told them. “Next time, we’ll kill more. End of meetin’.”

The two remaining members watched him storm off too, hearing a door slam in the distance.

Deuce sidled up to Boxcars, still worrying his hat. “…Are they gonna be okay?”

Hearts put a hand on Deuce’s head and ruffled his hair. “Yeah. They always are.”

\-----

**> Be Diamonds Droog.**

Droog was furious. He didn’t regret what he said, he meant every word. How _dare_ Slick try and blame him for their shortcomings after dropping that kind of bomb on them.

He lit up a cigarette with purple flame and gave it one long drag before heading down the street. The sky above him was dark and grey, and he could see small flurries of snow falling from the sky. He mused to himself about how long it took for the snow to start falling this year, but was snapped out of it when a familiar and unwanted voice sprang up from behind him.

“Well hey there.”

Droog didn’t hesitate as he whipped around to punch Scofflaw in the face.

Scofflaw ducked before he could land it and grinned. “Nice one.”

“I am not in the mood to deal with you right now.” Droog took a defensive stance. “Fuck off.”

The grin didn’t drop from Scofflaw’s face. Why would it when the man revels in misfortune? “Aww darlin’, somethin’ wrong?”

Droog quickly equipped his Ultraviolence Cuestick and held it ready. “I am two seconds away from killing you.”

“Hey, hey now. This ain’t about my rude notes, is it?” Scofflaw asked, holding up both hands in a shrug “'cause that was all in good fun.”

Droog had no idea what he was talking about. “Why are you so fixated on us?”

“I ain’t. I jus’ think it’s fun t’ mess with ya’.”

Droog swung at him, blunt end first, and missed as Scofflaw teleported out of the way and reappeared behind him.

“Aww come on. What’s really botherin’ you?”

He jabbed the cue stick behind him in another attempt to hit Scofflaw, and missed a second time. Scofflaw’s voice rang out from all directions.

“It’s Slick, ain’t it? What’d he do now?”

He’s in the shadows now, Droog observes. Clearly to avoid him, but also to mock him. “I am really not in the mood for this.”

“Darlin’ please. Don’t take it out on li'l ol’ me.”

His voice was starting to grate on him. “Show yourself.”

“Not while you’re bein’ so unreasonable. Let’s talk like adults.”

Droog heard a threat in the voice. Not a direct threat, but something in his tone told him it would be better to back down, so he did. He carded his Cuestick and put it back up his sleeve. Scofflaw reappeared in front of him when it was safely out of play.

“See, that’s more like it.”

If scofflaw gave a shit about how he was glaring at him, he didn’t show it. “What do you want, Scofflaw?”

Scoff smiled at him, a friendly smile. “I wanna know what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Droog answered him. “And if there was something wrong, it’s none of your concern.”

“C'mon, y'know I ain’t gonna be satisfied with that.” He wrapped an arm around Droog’s shoulder. “Y’ can talk t’ me. After all, I ain’t even from here, ain’t like tellin’ me will do shit, right?”

Droog frowned at him. “You’re technically my enemy.”

“I ain’t gotta be.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean I ain’t here t’ fight ya’.”

“I doubt you’re here to play psychiatrist either.” Droog removed Scofflaw’s hand from his shoulder. “It’s not anything that concerns you.”

“Y'know what you need? You need a drink.” Scofflaw clapped his hands and gestured down the street. “Let’s getcha a drink.”

Droog thought on it for a second. He was tense, pissed off, angry at Slick, angry at the man in front of him. A drink was absolutely needed to help shake off how horrible he felt. The fact that it was with Scofflaw made him uneasy.

“You know what. Fine.” Droog resigned himself to fate. “What do I possibly have to lose?”

Scofflaw grinned and slapped Droog on the back, leading him down the street.


	6. Chapter 6

**> Be Peccant Scofflaw.**

Droog had been relegated to a shitty room in one of Inny’s millions of safehouses, and he really turned it around. Straightened the place up, found the accent pillows--the green ones, that Scofflaw bought but Inny hid DPI-knows-where--and cleaned things off.

It was nice. Scofflaw appreciated it. That said, he didn’t hire a maid.

He hired a killer.

Scofflaw poofed into the safehouse, landing in perfect “draw me like one of your Dersite girls” position on the living room couch. Once the magic haze left his eyes he found that his display was being wasted on Innovator.

“Is this what we’re doing?” Innovator said, dryly. “I’ll get my charcoal and sketchpads. You can get nude, I guess. It’s art, it’s not supposed to look good.”

Scoff sat up, and gave Innovator a playful slap upside the head. “You fuck. I was hopin’ Droog was here.”

“In his bedroom,” Innovator said. “I might allow him to get his own place soon.”

“How magnanimous of ya’,” Scoff remarked.

“Something rented. No contract. He won’t be around long,” Innovator added.

Scofflaw grunted. He chose not to reply, and instead walked through the hall to Droog’s room. He opened the door without knocking, walking to an armchair next to Droog’s desk. The man himself was at his desk, with several decks of cards set out, sorting through them all.

“Hey, darlin’,” Scoff said, sighing as he flopped into the chair. “Me ‘n the boys were plannin’ a heist t’night. You in?”

Droog pulled a face at being called “darlin’”, and it was that face that made Scofflaw make sure to call him that every time. He looked at Scofflaw, tapping a six of clubs on the desk. “What kind of heist?”

“Bank on th’ other side’f town,” Scofflaw answered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands folded together. “Got some new kinda vault. Inny wants t’ see if he can crack it.”

Outside the room, Innovator’s voice shouted, “ _He isn’t invited!_ ”

Droog sighs at the interruption, closing his eyes for a moment. “He can crack it. It isn’t a question of ‘if’ moreso ‘when’.”

Scofflaw nodded. “Course, I’d jus’ teleport in, but he likes a challenge.” He wiggled his fingers at that last word, for emphasis. “Y’ up to it?”

“I’ll watch, at the very least,” Droog said, leaning back in his chair. “If anyone needs to be shot, I’ll be more than happy to do that, too.”

“We might need that, if’n he takes longer with th’ vault than he thinks he’s gonna.”

“When do we leave?”

“Couple hours.” Scoff looked at his watch briefly. It was expensive and gaudy. No subtlety at all. “Once th’ streets’re nice’n empty.”

“I’ll stack my deck in the meantime.”

Droog returned to his work, looking through his cards and deciding which ones to bring along. Scoff stuck around, watching him work, partly to get a feel for his Droog operates and partly to see what the hell he kept in that deck of his. Most of the items were a mystery to him. When they were in card form, he had no idea what they actually were. He wondered if Droog memorized what cards corresponded to what, or whether there was some way to tell at a glance that he just wasn’t seeing, like a magician’s marked cards. Still, Droog would occasionally glitch a card to inspect it, and what Scoff saw there was impressive. The man was a walking arsenal.

“I heard that Pickle guy visited th’ other day,” Scoff said, after a while.

Droog didn’t answer. He shuffled a five of hearts into his deck.

“I know there’s been a lotta people tryin’a getcha t’ go back t’ where y’ was,” Scofflaw continued. “He wasn’t doin’ that, was ‘e?”

Droog shook his head. “No.”

“So, what. Jus’ a social call, then?”

“Something like that.”

Droog set the half-finished deck he’d been working on aside, and started sifting through some different cards. Scoff continued to watch with interest, until Droog flipped a few of them to reveal bandages and other first-aid items. That was boring.

“I was worried,” Scofflaw said. He watched Droog shuffle the new cards into his deck. “Thought maybe he might try’n guilt ya’ int’ goin’ back. I know you ain’t gonna listen to that crew’f yours, but him… dunno about him.”

“I thought he was going to try and convince me, too,” Droog said, turning a card in his hand. “I was surprised when he didn’t.”

“Awful sweet’f him.” Scoff grinned, leaning over. “You oughtta invite ‘im t’ join us. Wouldn’t mind addin’ another PI to my li’l club.”

“No,” Droog replied, entirely too quickly. Then, more calmly, he added, “He’s not built for the kind of work we do. He never has been.”

“Shame.”

“It really is.”

Scofflaw finally got to the real question, the one at the crux of this little conversation. “Are you’n him a thing?”

“No,” Droog replied, and he sounded very definite about it. “He was a good ally, when the situation called for it, and an equally good enemy.”

“So, he don’t fit int’ any quadrants’t all?”

Droog looked thoughtful for a moment. “He… was in love with me, for a time. I don’t know much about that sort of thing. I tried to get him to teach me, but he declined. He said he didn’t want to be treated like an experiment.”

Scoff hummed thoughtfully, imagining the scene. For all his intelligence, Droog struck him as being dumb as a rock where emotions were concerned. He probably approached the poor detective with invasive questions instead of just trying to have a feelings jam like a normal person.

“You gonna be okay on this heist?” Scofflaw asked, sitting up.

“Why would I not be?”

“Dunno,” Scoff said, although he had a pretty good idea.

“It’s a simple heist with a three man squad. Disabling electronic cameras is simple enough, and I have evasive skills and offensive weapons.” Droog motioned at his deck.

“You’ve jus’ been a li’l off lately,” Scoff mused.

“I’m fine.”

Scoff stood up, straightening out his lapels. “You’re sure? ‘Cause you been distracted.”

Droog looked away. He picked up his finished deck and put it in his pocket. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“‘M sure,” Scoff said, putting his hands in his pockets and looking down on the latest member of the Scoundrels. “Change’f scenery, ‘n all. So what all did Pickle say t’ you?”

Droog hesitated. He rested his hands on his desk, and clenched his fists. “Enough to make me question the future.”

“Your future with us?”

“No,” Droog said, shaking his head. “Just, in general.” Droog looked up at Scofflaw. “I have no doubt that I’m a valuable addition to your team, and that you’d rather have me on your side than not. That much is unquestionable.”

“So what else is there?”

Droog paused, seeming to think about it. He sighed. “I had a plan. He made me realize that the outcome was not worth the risks I would have to take to see it through.”

Scofflaw didn’t like the sound of that. He knew Droog was a schemer by nature, but him making schemes this early on was troubling. “What kinda plan we talkin’, here?”

“A plan that would have destroyed me, had I continued,” Droog said.

“That’s nice ‘n foreboding.” Scoff took off his hat, scratched his head, and smoothed out his hair. “Whatever. You ain’t gotta make plans. ‘S my job. I’ll make sure you’re nice’n taken care of, so don’ sweat it.”

“That’s actually somewhat reassuring,” Droog said.

Scofflaw bristled a little. ‘Actually’? Seems the bar was set pretty low here. He pat Droog on the back. “‘S what I do. ‘S why I’m th’ leader, see?” He made his way back to the door. “I’ll go butter Inny up. Be ready t’ go in an hour.”

Scofflaw exited the room to find Innovator fuming in the hallway. Predictable as always. He threw an arm around Innovator’s shoulders and, deciding that this conversation was best not heard, teleported the both of them out of there. They spent a brief second in the interspatial void before reappearing in one of Scofflaw’s many penthouse apartments. They were in the living room. Like the hideout, it had a minimalist decorating scheme, but there were many more personal touches here. The color scheme was dark, but there was a huge window along one side of the room that looked out onto the city, as well as a grand piano overlooking the view. Opposite the window, there was a decorative terrarium built into the wall. If one looked closely, they would see two fat geckos living in it. Innovator pushed Scofflaw away.

“This is stupid,” he said. “He doesn’t need to come. _You_ don’t need to come.”

“I gotta get ‘im out there.” There was a bar to his right, and Scofflaw ambled over to it. He looked through the bottles. “Gotta see what he can do. I say once we get th’ vault open we wait around for th’ cops, yeah?”

“No.” Innovator crossed his arms and fell into the couch. “This was--was supposed to be simple, and you’re making it this whole thing. There’s no point to it. He isn’t going to stay.”

“He’s stayin’, baby,” Scofflaw said, pouring some whiskey into a pair of glass tumblers. “Once those idiots on th’ other side figure out how t’ close th’ Rift he’ll be stuck here, ‘n then he’s all ours, forever.”

“Or until you get bored,” Innovator added.

“Or that.” Scoff made his way to the couch, offering Innovator a tumbler. Innovator eyed it warily, but accepted it nonetheless.

Innovator chugged the contents of his glass in one go. He let out a breath. “The Rift is staying open. Pickle and I have already figured it out. We can close it any time, we’ve chosen not to.”

Scofflaw took a long swig of his drink, then sat down next to Innovator. “‘We’. So it’s a group effort?”

Innovator nodded, tossing the empty glass over his shoulder. It shattered on the wood floor. Cleaning this place wasn’t his problem. “We think that if we get our respective deities to stitch it up at the same time, it should stay closed. It needs to be a coordinated effort. I’m not doing a thing until Droog is gone.”

Scoff took another sip, and leaned against his brother in arms. “Inny, why y’ gotta ruin my fun like this?”

“Because your idea of ‘fun’ is going to get us all killed.” Innovator didn’t fight against Scofflaw leaning on him, but rather put all of his weight onto Scoff. Innovator was always touch-starved, and Scofflaw had a terrible habit of tapping into that. “He’s been speaking to the Terrors.”

“So have we,” Scofflaw replied, motioning with his glass. “Maybe you could teach him a thing or two.”

“I refuse.” Innovator took the glass from Scoff’s hand and finished the drink in it. “He has no loyalty to us. He’s a DD, Scoff. Just look at Deadeye. He’s stubborn, he’s loyal to his city. Could you ever imagine him moving to that other city? Joining up with Pickle?”

“Well, maybe he oughtta,” Scoff said. “‘M sure they’d get along great, bein’ on th’ same side’f the law ‘n whatnot.”

Innovator frowned, and threw the glass. It shattered into the piano. Scoff flinched. “Inny you ass, that’s one’f a kind!”

“So is Deadeye!” Innovator howled, shoving Scofflaw away. “And so is Pickle, and we can’t just--just switch places! Pickle can’t be Deadeye’s PI. I can’t be Droog’s!! People aren’t interchangeable, and Droog has no place here! And he damn well _knows it._ ”

“You’re bein’ a sentimental shit,” Scoff said, standing up. “Who gives a fuck if he got a place here? He’ll make a place. He’s that kinda guy.”

“He’s going to go back,” Innovator insisted. “It just so happened the Rift opened while he was having a spat with his shitty boss. You haven’t won him over. We’re just--just the vehicle through which he’s throwing his tantrum.”

“Maybe so,” Scofflaw said, rocking on his heels. “But damn if I don’t know how t’ take advantage of a situation.”

Innovator glared up at him for a moment. Then he said, “I’m not coming.”

“Inny c’mon, this’s your heist,” Scoff said, gently.

“You can just--just teleport in. Fuck it up so badly you r--really see what he can do!” Innovator threw his hands in the air. “I’ll watch the news, I’m sure they’ll have a field day with it!”

“Inny--”

Innovator disappeared, leaving an excess of smoke that Scofflaw knew had to be intentional. He coughed, waving the smoke away.

What a goddamn drama queen.


	7. Chapter 7

 

**> Be Spades Slick, several weeks ago.**

Everything felt weird. Tense. Wrong. Slick was wound up and he didn’t know why.

It had been days since he’d seen or heard from Droog. He was avoiding him obviously, but that didn’t mean he was okay with it. He wanted to go after him but something felt…wrong. He was on edge since he came back from Death, more on edge than usual. Every noise he heard seemed louder, every color seemed brighter. He felt like everything around him was clearer than normal and for some reason it annoyed him.

He’d been keeping to himself for the past week, not bothering to really talk to anyone outside The Crew circle, or within it in Droog’s case. He didn’t focus on heists, any of the businesses, the rift, The Felt, nothing. He’d cooped himself up in the base for an entire week, barring a couple of walks out, and Boxcars had taken it upon himself to ‘bodyguard’ him for it. Which was stupid. He didn’t need a bodyguard. He barely even left.

So it was much to Slick’d surprise when Sleuth jumped down the manhole and gunned for him once he saw him.

“Slick, you motherfucker!” Sleuth cursed as soon as his feet hit the floor. “What th’ fuck, why ain’t you ‘r Droog called or nothin’?!“

Slick himself was standing in the shadows of the room, cast by a broken lightbulb he hadn’t bothered to fix. "Never knew you were our keeper…"

“Yeah, no, no thanks,” Sleuth said, looking around. He stayed back, not bothering to get too close. A good idea. "I keep tellin’ you, there’s a fuckin’ clone of me on th’ loose 'n I gotta be kept in th’ loop. ‘sides, you ain’t tried t’ kill me in days 'n that’s weird.“

"What’s weird and ain’t, Sleuth?” He mumbled from the darkness. His voice seemed to circle Sleuth. “Figured someone like you in relation t'us would be happy we ain’t showed our faces.”

“Well 'xcuse me for bein’ worried.“ Sleuth grumbled. Something about this wasn’t right. ”'n, again, I’d like a goddamn update on th’ rift situation.“

"Course ya would.” He emerged from the shadows, knife in hand. He stopped right in front of Sleuth, body language displaying an eerie calmness. “Ain’t none of yer business or concern anymore. Go home.”

Sleuth leaned back. Slick was too calm and that was not normal. “At least tell me if'n you seen my clone again.” He glanced around. “Where’s Droog? I’d rather talk t’ him, he’s more rational'n you.”

“Didn’t'ya hear me?” Slick growled, lip lifting in a sneer. The fact that Sleuth only leaned back instead of stepping back made him incredibly angry. Sleuth in general was making him a little more mad than usual. Slick took a step forward, giving the other a shove. “Beat it!!”

“Fuck you!” Sleuth didn’t hesitate to shove Slick back. Sure, he was sort of poking the lion with a stick, but he was never one to back down from a challenge from a criminal. “I’m bein’ entirely reasonable here 'n you’re bein’ 'n ass!”

“An ass with a brain, you fuckin’ dip.” He snarled.

“See, now I got some serious doubts about that. You havin’ a brain, I mean.” Sleuth took a step back. "Seriously though. Where th’ hell’s Droog at?“

“That ain’t yer business, Sleuth.” Now Slick was getting mad. He readied himself, lunging forward to try and get a slash in.

Sleuth dodged, reaching into his trenchcoat to pull out a knife of his own. He twirled it in his hand. “That’s what we’re doin’ now? Havin’ a knife fight? Y’ should know better'n that, man.”

“We both know when it comes t'stabbin’ a motherfucker, I’m the best between us.” He spat, tossing his knife between his hands. “Yer dead, Sleuth. Shoulda walked out when y'had the chance.”

Slick jumped for him, his attack a bit quicker and more hostile than it normally would be. Sleuth managed to avoid it, luckily, and ended up bumping him to put a bit of distance between them. “Please. I’m a master'f knifery 'n you know it.“

Slick scoffed, steadying himself from the bump. "Well then. Cherish it, cause this is gonna be yer last knife fight…”

He lunged for him again. Sleuth caught Slick’s arm, pulling him to the side before responding with a jab of his own. He wasn’t aiming to kill, just to injure. Slick, however, seemed to be radiating bloodlust.

“Fuckin’ fight like a man, ya pussy!“ He barked at him “Show me what y'got when faced with impending death!”

Sleuth swiped at Slick. “You say that like I’m in any way threatened by your bullshit.”

Slick hissed when his arm was caught by the swipe. He slashed upwards and was caught by Sleuth’s knife coming down. They both landed hits. He body slammed into him in retaliation and knocked him to the floor “Y'should be this time. We ain’t on the playground anymore.”

“Get off, y’ li'l shit!”

Slick refused to budge. His eyes were ablaze with hatred, and he drew his hand back. “Gnite, Sleuth. Enjoy yer eternal rest.”

Sleuth acted on instinct, lashing out to try and stop Slick from killing him. Before he knew it, he’d embedded his knife in Slick’s chest.

**> Be Problem Sleuth, those same weeks in the past.**

Sleuth stared at the mobster on top of him, frozen in place, red slowly staining his shirt. Slick looked down at the knife wound, slowly, calmly. Sleuth, meanwhile, was the exact opposite of calm. This was not what he wanted. This was not the plan. He was so fucked.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Didn’t think… y’ had it in ya,” Slick said. He tried to chuckle, but was cut off by a hard cough. Blood splattered across his lips, some of it hitting Sleuth’s face.

Sleuth shoved Slick off of him. He scrambled to his feet and backed away. “I–I didn’t mean t’–I wasn’t aimin’ t’–”

Slick groaned as he landed on the ground, shaking his head as he did. The noise turned into a laugh, which grew louder and louder. It was creepy as hell. Slick put away his knife, grinning in a way that seemed way crazier than normal, and flipped out a sword instead.

“Th’ fuck’re y’ doin’?!” Sleuth yelled, getting his phone out. “Put that shit away, I’m callin’ ‘n ambulance!”

“Save yer breath,” Slick spat. He extended his arm, sword glinting dangerously in the dim light. “Enjoy yer night.”

With a single swipe, Slick severed his own head, cutting clean through muscle and bone and skin. His eyes rolled back as his head separated from his body, going limp on the floor with a dull thump.

Spades Slick was dead. Sleuth did not know that it was the second time this week.

He yelled.

A lot.

The detective was sure he was fucked. Who the fuck goes and decapitates themself? Who the hell would believe Sleuth that Slick did that?

Should he call somebody, he wondered? If he came clean to the crew, would they go easy on him? No, probably not. Droog would have him locked away in some dark room before long, making Sleuth eat his own skin or some shit. Maybe he should bail. Maybe nobody will know he was ever here. Maybe they’ll blame Scofflaw.

He was brought out of his head by the sound of the manhole cover opening. Someone was descending the ladder. They sounded heavy. Boxcars. Fuck. The mobster hopped down the last few rungs, turned to face the room, and noticed Slick’s corpse immediately. Then he looked at Sleuth.

“This ain’t what it looks like,” Sleuth said. He wasn’t sure what the hell he meant by that. This was exactly what it looked like. He’d killed Slick. What kind of idiot was he?

Boxcars rubbed his temples, sighing harshly. “Aww, you’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Sleuth was a little put off by that casual response. It was probably a bad sign. He’d act all casual, lure Sleuth into a false sense of security, then pull out an axe…

“It was an accident, Boxcars, I swear,” Sleuth said, a bit frantic. “'n then he cut off his own head, what th’ fuck even? It was so fucked up, Boxcars. This’s so fucked up.”

“Hey, hey now,” Boxcars said. “Calm th’ hell down. Ain’t s’ big a deal ’s it looks.”

“Ain’t a big deal?!” Sleuth shrieked, pulling at his hair. “Slick’s dead! Slick’s dead 'n I did it 'n oh god, oh fuck, I am so fucked.”

There was a small groan from Slick’s direction. Sleuth looked over to see that Slick’s neck was now reattached to his head, and there wasn’t even any blood on him anymore. Sleuth made an undignified noise at the sight of him. Slick slowly got to his feet, then cracked his neck with a satisfied sigh. He glanced at Boxcars, looking at him for a good long while before looking back at Sleuth with the shittiest smirk he could muster.

“Gonna shit your pants, Sleuth? Grow some fuckin’ balls.”

Sleuth pointed at the undead mobster and screamed some obscenities before managing to string together a proper sentence. “What the fuck! What the actual fuck, y’ zombie bastard! Y’ fuckin’ asshole, what the fuck even?!”

“Jesus,” Boxcars grumbled. “Calm your shit. Ain'tcha never seen no one come back to life before?”

Sleuth couldn’t say he hadn’t, considering the shit his teammates regularly got themselves into, but it was startling nonetheless. “I wasn’t 'xactly expectin’ it, fuck you!”

“Shaddup!” Slick snapped, quite a bit more explosively than appropriate. His eyes were wide, and his fists were clenched. Sleuth did, in fact, shut up, if only because Slick looked like he was about to kill everything in a ten mile radius. After moments of tense silence, he spoke again, his voice low and slow. “If y’ can’t take th’ heat, then hang up your fuckin’ hat. This ain’t th’ playground, Sleuth. People die.” Slick picked up his hat–no longer bloody, completely pristine–and put it back on his head. “Even the ones you may not want to.”

“People ain’t s'posed t’ come back, is th’ part I’m havin’ trouble with,” Sleuth said back. “Y’ weren’t even gone long enough t’ have played a game'r nothin’!”

Slick scoffed and shook his head. “You were screamin’ from th’ moment my head came off. I could hear ya’ in fuckin’ limbo.” He waved a hand towards the ladder. “Y’ might wanna skedaddle. If y'know what’s good for ya’.”

“I’ll leave,” Sleuth said. “Jus’ as soon as y’ explain what th’ fuck jus’ happened!”

“Let’s just say, I got my ways,” Slick said.

Boxcars rolled his eyes. “’s 'cause his head came off.That’s his ‘ways’.” The burly gangster then positioned himself behind Sleuth, shoving him towards the exit. “Now scram, 'fore th’ boss gets violent.”

Sleuth allowed himself to be pushed. He had a personal policy against fighting Boxcars, because he knew he wouldn’t win. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep talking. “That’s fucked up,” he said, to Slick. “’s real fucked up!”

Slick laughed. “And yer surprised by this, why?”

Sleuth opened his mouth to respond, but Boxcars gave him another shove. He decided to save it. Things already went south enough, he didn’t need to push his luck further. He grabbed onto the rungs of the ladder and climbed out of the crew’s base.

\---

**> Keep being Problem Sleuth, but in the present day this time.**

Death’s door was easy enough to find. He always had one up on top of GPI’s hat. It took a good amount of liquor to imagine up a means to get there, but Sleuth was nothing if not ready to get shitfaced at a moment’s notice. Once he was up there he took a good long time sitting around and drinking water, because he needed to be diplomatic here. Walking in on Death drunk as a skunk wasn’t going to do him any favors.

Death wasn’t Sleuth’s biggest fan. They hadn’t had a huge amount of interaction--unlike his teammates, who basically made a habit of dying during that Kingpin debacle--but Sleuth had severely fucked up the one interaction they did have. He borrowed Death’s scythe, then proceeded to blow it up. How was he supposed to know he wasn’t allowed to do that? If he didn’t want his scythe to explode, he should have done something to it to keep it from turning into bombs!

No. No, don’t divert blame. Just apologize, and get to business. Sleuth stood up, straightened his suit, and knocked on the door.

Death opened the door, then closed it again.

Sleuth pushed the door open. Which took effort, because Death was trying to hold it closed. He was literally a skeleton though, so he wasn’t hard to overpower. Sleuth made his way into Death’s office, while Death stomped over to his table and started chugging the tea there.

“What’re y’ doin’?” Sleuth asked, watching as the tea dropped through Death’s jawbone and soaked into his robe.

“I’m--I’m drinking my tea so you can’t have any!!” Death slammed his teacup onto the table. “What do you want?”

“I’m here t’ apologize,” Sleuth closed the door behind him, then put his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about th’ scythe thing. Can you get another?”

“GPI can make me one,” Death says, pouring more tea into his mug. “Sometime. Whenever He feels like it.”

“Well, ‘m sure he’ll get to it soon.”

Death drank more tea. A puddle was forming under him. He put the mug down. “That isn’t what you’re here for.”

“Well, no,” Sleuth says, grinning. “But I figured it’d be polite t’ start on that.”

“Put the Pulchritude away, Sleuth.” Death’s voice was flat. He looked into the teapot, and must have found it empty, because he didn’t continue chugging it.

Sleuth shrugged and stopped pumping his stat. Oh well. “I hear you’ve been havin’ a problem keepin’ dead guys dead.”

“Story of my life,” Death said. He waved a hand, and a door appeared. He opened it to reveal that it was a broom closet. He dug around, grabbed a mop, and started mopping up the mess he had made.

“A specific dead guy,” Sleuth went on. He pulled up a chair and sat at the table. “Spades Slick.”

Death glanced up at him, then returned to mopping, more furiously than before.

Sleuth folded his hands on the table. “His friends tell me he’s been braggin’ about some sorta loophole. That sounds, t’ me, like the sorta thing I can help with.”

Death stopped mopping and sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“I… messed something up,” he said.

“I’m here t’ help.”

Death explained the problem. As it turns out, his fondness for playing board games was not part of the Divine Plan. He was just supposed to usher people through their Door, end of story. He got bored, so he started offering to play a game with them. GPI wasn’t a very harsh boss, it was all right. The Universe compensated, rewriting the laws of life and death to account for the new routine.

Therein lay the problem.

“I don’t understand, uh… legal-ese,” Death said, summoning an enormous black book. It landed on the table with a _thud_. He opened it and flipped through the pages. “If I could figure out exactly where the loophole was, and what to write to close it, I would, but…”

Sleuth got up and walked over to Death, reading over his shoulders. The text in the book was tiny, and full of all sorts of obtuse legal terms. The laws of the universe were by no means simple. “Sounds like y’ need an Arbiter t’ intercede on your behalf.”

“If you can fix it, I’ll forgive you for the scythe thing,” Death said.

“‘F course I can fix it.” Sleuth looked the book over. “‘N what about how Slick’s been actin’? He’s been like, real--”

“Reckless? Impulsive? Stupid?”

“Yeah. Thereabouts.”

Death nodded, and flipped to a page. He pointed to a passage, which Sleuth read. Like the rest of the book, it wasn’t easy reading, but it boiled down to this: it wasn’t a bug, it was a feature. The universe naturally wants to correct itself. Those who evade death through loopholes start exhibiting behaviors that increase the risk of dying, in order to restore things to where they were supposed to be. The dead are meant to stay dead. Those who escape death are doomed to return to it.

“Any way t’ reverse that?” Sleuth asked.

“Bring him here,” Death said. “Fix the loophole for me, and I’ll fix him.”

Sleuth clapped Death on the shoulder and agreed to those terms. Then Death gave him the book and sent him on his way.

It was only rewriting the rules of the universe. He could knock this out in a day. Probably.


	8. Chapter 8

**> Be Pickle Inspector.**

He’d given Droog some space. Their last encounter was a little more intense than Pickle was comfortable with, but at least it had ended well. 

Pickle had agreed with Innovator to work on convincing Droog to go home. He absolutely intended to do that, but on the other hand, Slick was a pain in the ass and Pickle also absolutely understood Droog’s desire to leave. It was a bit of a conundrum. He’d already given up on anything romantic happening between him and Droog. Maybe him leaving the universe for good was a good thing?

No, that thought hurt too much. Innovator would be furious.

He still had time. The rift was stable, so there wasn’t a hurry to close it yet. He needed to feel things out, see how Droog was doing.

This time, he brought cake.

It took a long time between Pickle knocking on the door, and the door opening. When it did, Droog was in a state of undress. By Droog standards, anyway. He didn’t have his jacket on, his shirt had the first three buttons undone, and his tie was nowhere to be found. This was downright scandalous. No wonder it had taken Droog so long to answer the door, he must have been deciding whether or not to put more clothing on.

_ (He may have had less on,  _ said the part of his brain that Pickle knew not to listen to.)

“You brought cake,” he said.

Pickle smiled brightly. It was a strawberry cake. He felt very confident about this choice. “H--how are you?”

“I’ve been,” he paused, and moved to let Pickle walk in. “... Handling things. You don’t have to keep checking up on me, you know.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” Pickle said, placing the cake on the table. He went to the little tea counter to look for a knife and forks. He knew damn well Innovator was a cake friend. He found what he needed, and two small saucers, and placed them on the table. He began cutting it.

Droog padded down the room in his black socks, looking almost adorable without his shoes. Without… most of the outfit. Put together, the clothes turned Droog into something more than a man. A symbol--a black shadow, looming everywhere. Unbreakable, unbeatable, unavoidable. With elements removed, he just looked like a person. Normal. Down to Earth.

Droog sat down on the couch, spreading his legs comfortably. Pickle passed him a saucer with a slice of cake on it, and a fork. Then Pickle sat down himself, on the floor at the coffee table, to better use said table. He looked up at Droog. “Have you been um. Settling in? Getting comfortable?”

Droog glanced down at his attire, then looked away. “It’s admittedly more comfortable than being under Slick. I don’t have to worry about getting shanked at every opportunity.”

“Have you found an apartment yet?”

Droog shook his head. “It hasn’t really been my top priority.”

Pickle thought about that, tapping his fork on his lip thoughtfully. “I assume, um. Top priority has been to ah, figure out what top priority should be?”

“Exactly that.” Droog took a small bite of the cake. “Admittedly, I have been so preoccupied with what to do that I haven’t been focusing on what I have been doing.” He sighed. “Scofflaw has noticed.”

Pickle looked up at Droog, his head leaning back onto the couch cushion. “He--he hasn’t been angry about it, has he?”

“No. He’s been… supportive?” Droog put his fork in the cake, leaving it there. “It’s strange the way he works and talks. I know there’s danger behind his words, no man with the power that he has wouldn’t have some. But he hasn’t pushed anything. Hasn’t done anything… damaging.” He finally lifted the fork. “He seems set on reassuring me at every turn. I’m not used to that sort of reception.” Droog ate a bite of cake.

Pickle thought about it, moving his head a little. His hat tipped off his head, rolling to the side. “Well… if he’s like Sleuth, a-and he probably is, I think, then he works better by m-making sure his allies are happy. S--so they help him better. You know?”

Droog nodded. “I don’t think he trusts me.”

“He probably doesn’t,” Pickle agreed. “He hasn’t known you that long.”

“I can understand that.”

Pickle smiled. He stood back up, and made his way to the tea counter. “I think you--you shouldn’t worry so much about what to do next.” He put some water in the kettle. “Just. D-do your job. Buy yourself some things, I don’t know. Just focus on now.”

“That would be nice,” Droog said. His hands were steadily holding the cake saucer and the fork, but not moving to eat any more of it. “But I’ve never  _ not _ had a plan for the future. Not having a plan means my present is unstable. I don’t like instability. Being in one place with no goal for the future is complacency, and I am not a man who settles.”

“Mmn.” Pickle put the kettle on, then leaned on the counter as he waited for it to heat up. “I don’t know, settling isn’t so bad. I mean, I d-don’t have any plans, and I get by all right.”

Droog was unmoved. “I’m not you. You’re not aiming to be any bigger.”

“D--do you have to be anything bigger?” The kettle murmured under Pickle’s gaze. “You’re already doing well.”

“I’ve always done well. I’m just in a place where I’m torn between not wanting something to happen, even though I know it’s good for me, and continuing to live like I’m expecting it to.” Droog let out a breath, and it almost sounded like a chuckle. “I sound like an idiot.”

Pickle took the kettle off and poured the water into a pair of mugs. “I just think. It’ll come to you in time, probably.”

Droog was quiet for a moment, and there was the clinking of metal on glass as he cut a piece of cake and ate it. Then he said, “You know what I’ve been thinking lately? I’ve actually been thinking that living like this, here, could actually make me happy. What a ludicrous thought.”

There was a heavy feeling inside of Pickle, and he fumbled a bit as he spooned sugar into his mug. No, no. This was good. It was… fine.

“I think I’d like to see that,” he said, staring at the strainer in his mug. 

Droog continued talking as Pickle removed the strainers, dropping them into the sink. “I’m not even sure what it’s like to be happy. Content? Satisfied? Maybe. Happy? I don’t like it.”

Pickle walked over with a mug in each hand. “I’m not sure either but--but I think it’s something worth having.” He smiled at Droog, trying to convey all the misplaced warmth he felt for the man. “I want you to be happy, Droog.”

It was true. He shouldn’t feel that way, because they’re on opposite sides of the law and Droog’s happiness usually meant trouble for the rest of the city, but Pickle had gotten stupidly involved. He’d developed feelings for exactly the wrong person, and those feelings were persistent, and nagging, and utterly, utterly hopeless. It didn’t even matter if Droog reciprocated anymore. It didn’t matter if he came running back to their home dimension, it didn’t even matter if Droog denounced crime and asked Pickle’s hand in marriage.

It was a doomed prospect.

Nevertheless, Pickle loved Droog. He wanted Droog to be happy.

Droog put the cake down to accept a mug from Pickle. Their hands touched, and Droog looked down at them. Pickle flushed. He took a quick sip from his own tea, and then sat back down and shoved a chunk of cake in his mouth.

It was a moment before Droog spoke again. “I’m not meant to be happy. It’s hardly a part of my vocabulary. I’ve been spending too much time around Scofflaw. That infernal Pulchritude is getting to me.”

Pickle chuckled. “It does that.”

They sat in silence for a while, eating cake and drinking tea. It felt different, to Pickle. Here Droog was, being casual with him, talking about feelings. 

“I’m not content being second best,” Droog said, finally. “Even in the Crew, I was undoubtedly the most dangerous man in Midnight City.”

“I’m n-not sure that’s possible here.” Pickle said. “Innovator is uh. A tough act to beat.”

“Which is my problem.”

“You’re the best-dressed man here though. That’s something.”

Droog leaned forward to put his plate and fork on the table. “True. So the question is now, should I allow myself to be content with my position? Even though the lack of a goal drives me mad?”

“Small goals, maybe,” Pickle suggested.

“Small goals.” He leaned back again. “What would that even be?”

“Simple things, at first. Collect a certain amount of money, or something?”

“Inspector, I’m a millionaire.”

“So become a billionaire.”

Pickle thought about his own words. Was that possible? A billion was a lot more than a million. Was there even that much money in circulation?

“I’m not sure that’s a ‘small goal’.” Droog leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How about, I make my goal to prove to Scofflaw that I’m not going to betray him any time soon.”

“Yes.” Pickle said into his mug. “That.”

“And then, after that…” Droog ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. Have I lost my edge, Inspector?”

Pickle wanted to say that he hoped so. 

“Of course not.”

“I haven’t had an opportunity to be as dangerous as I once was. Uncertainty and complacency are seeping into my bones.”

“O--Once Scofflaw trusts you more, I’m sure he’ll give you lots of missions where you can umm.” Pickle pulled his knees up to his chest, holding his tea mug with both hands. “Be dangerous.”

“I hope it’s soon.” Droog looked at Pickle, and Pickle couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t know why you bothered to come here, all I’m doing is talking about my problems.”

“That’s precisely why I came,” Pickle said with a smile.

“I know Innovator’s told you to convince me to leave, but here you’re just… supporting me.”

Pickle shrugged. “I just. W-want to help.”

Droog was quiet for a moment, his eyes lowered in thought. Then he leaned forward, placed a hand on Pickle’s cheek, and kissed him.

The moment seemed to last forever. Pickle was aware of the sensation of Droog’s lips on his. He was sure it was hot enough to burn him, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He twitched his fingers, not sure what to do with his hands--not sure what to do with any of himself. 

When Droog broke the kiss, Pickle felt like he hadn’t breathed in years.

“You’re still in love with me,” Droog said, his face still close to Pickle’s. “Perhaps the feeling is mutual.”

Pickle stammered, and scrambled to stand up. He hit his knees on the coffee table, cursed, then got to his feet. His cheeks felt hot, and he was dizzy from rising so quickly. “I--I--I sh-should go.”

“You haven’t finished your cake,” Droog said, still seated, calm as always.

Pickle shook his head. “It’ssss. It’s fine, I--”

He moved towards the door, but Droog spoke. “Don’t.”

It was not a suggestion. It was a command. Despite himself, Pickle froze. Droog stood, stretching as he did so, and Pickle regretted looking back to see that casual, beautiful adonis of a man walking towards him.

Droog put a hand on Pickle’s shoulder, eliciting a squeak from the detective. “It appears as though we’ve come to an impasse.”

Pickle stammered, and shrugged off Droog’s hand.

“While I understand your usual tendency toward being flaky and withdrawn, I’m confused.” Droog circled around the Inspector, and Pickle was shocked at how  _ un _ predatory it came off. “You tell me you love me. I decline, you accept that. Then I leave and you, against the protests of everyone you know, encourage me to stay. I tell you I love you too, and now you’re trying to abscond. If I didn’t know any better, which I do, I’d say you’re teasing me.”

Pickle wrung his hands, looking at the floor. He was shaking. “I’m nnot--I’m. Ssssssorry.”

“Inspector, look at me.”

Pickle screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Droog put hands on his shoulders again, both of them. “Inspector.”

Pickle looked at him. It was difficult looking anyone in the eye for Pickle, but Droog especially. This situation especially. Droog made Pickle weak. 

“ _ Do _ you still love me?” 

Pickle was a deer in the headlights. Frozen, overwhelmed, utterly unable to act.

Droog waited a polite amount of time, then sighed. “You’re conflicted.”

Pickle whimpered.

Droog put a hand on the back of Pickle’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss. It was soft, and gentle, and slow. Pickle couldn’t help but return it. Soon enough, Droog was pushing Pickle backwards onto the couch, still kissing, while Pickle held onto Droog’s shirt. By the time Droog broke the kiss, Pickle was breathless, bright red, and bewildered.

“I want you,” Droog said. “I won’t pretend I understand why, but I do.”

“I…” Inspector loosened his grip on Droog’s shirt, laying his hands on his chest. Droog was so warm. He couldn’t understand how such a cold person could be so warm. “I want you too. But I--I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because-- because you and the Terrors, you’re--” Pickle stopped, and let out a breath. This was complicated. How did he phrase ‘you’re up on the Terrors’ dicks’ in a polite way?

“You think I’m too far gone.”

Pickle nodded.

“You think you’re going to be compromised.”

Pickle nodded again.

Droog straightened, no longer leaning over Pickle.“You don’t trust me?”

Pickle furrowed his brow, looking to the side. “I don’t trust Them.”

“Because you’re the Godhead?”

“Because--because of my connection to Him, yes.”

Droog nodded. He sat down next to Pickle, still nodding.

“That’s a valid point.”

Pickle looked at Droog. He actually did look disappointed. It hurt. Pickle rubbed at his face. “I’m s-sorry. I just. I’m the mortal part of the whole… the whole divinity thing. The w-w-w-weak link. And with you letting them see what you see, letting them see, well. Me, in all my weak, mortal glory…”

“Doesn’t this mean you should abstain from me completely? You shouldn’t be here.”

“I--I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything dangerous, but.” Pickle took a breath. “Seeing you, and--and talking to you, I just…”

Pickle trailed off, but Droog wasn’t one to let Pickle leave a thought unsaid. “You just?”

“I just. Remembered how much I care about you.” 

Droog was quiet. 

He picked up Pickle’s hat, which had sat forgotten on the couch, and placed it on Pickle’s head. “If you think you have to leave, you can,” he said, at last.

Pickle wasn’t used to Droog sounding so… kind. Soft. It made this so much harder. He’d dreamed of this for so long. Of being near Droog without there being some sort of sordid business uniting them. Of Droog actually understanding his feelings. 

“Regardless of what you choose,” Droog added, slowly. “I want you to know one thing. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Pickle couldn’t help but laugh. He covered his face. 

“I admit,” Droog said, cracking the smallest smirk. “That’s new.”

Pickle rubbed his eyes, straightened his hat, and stood up. “I need time to think.”

The detective leaned forward, placing a hand on Droog’s face, and kissed his cheek. Then he turned, and forced himself to walk out the door.

Innovator was standing outside. The two froze at the sight of each other. 

“Sssorry,” Innovator mumbled.

\---

**> Be Hearts Boxcars.**

This was such bullshit.

Being under fire wasn’t new. Having things go wrong wasn’t new.

Having it happen so goddamn often? THAT was new.

Boxcars was crouched over behind a counter in a casino belonging to one of the smaller gangs in town. Slick and Deuce were across the aisle, behind an upturned craps table. 

“We gonna talk about this?” he said, to Slick.

Slick was sifting through his deck, quickly enough that Boxcars had to wonder if he was even looking at them. “What kinda guns you got?” he replied.

Deuce also flipped through his deck, a bit more carefully. “I might got some good explosives, but--”

Boxcars rolled his eyes. “Fuck guns. Boss, teleport out ‘n take Deuce with ya’.”

“Fuck you,” Slick hissed.

“Th’ heist’s fucked,” Boxcars insisted. “Ain’t no point now.”

A bullet flew over Slick’s head. “Since when’ve y’ been afraid’f a fight?” 

“I ain’t afraid,” Boxcars growled, baring his razor-sharp teeth. “‘M fuckin’  _ tired. _ I’ve had t’ fight off angry mobs ev’ry day this week. ‘M covered ‘n bruises ‘n cuts. Could we please jus’ do th’ smart thing ‘n cut our losses? Jus’ once?”

Slick narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you,” he said again.

“Boss,” Deuce said.

“I’ll show y’ cowards how it’s done.” Slick flipped a gun out of his deck, and then ran out from the table, towards their assailants.

Deuce and Boxcars looked at each other.

“I miss Droog,” Deuce said.

“Yeah,” Boxcars said, flipping out a gatling gun. “Me too.”

By the end of the night, they were up several bullet wounds, but made no profit in the ordeal. Slick screamed obscenities the whole time Deuce healed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long for this chapter;;;;;


	9. Chapter 9

**> Be Problem Sleuth.**

Legal writing was not the same as any other type of writing. English is a language steeped in layers of double meanings, ambiguities, and interpretations. In literature, this creates art. In conversation, this creates jokes. In law, this creates loopholes, and may the gods help any poor soul who did not intend the loopholes he’d created.

Sleuth became a veritable hermit, only leaving his house to get more books from the library, or to get coffee at some ungodly hour. This had to be perfect. It was the laws of life and death--any mistakes could lead to more problems the likes of which they were all facing now, or worse. Sleepless nights were spent choosing words and squeezing the meaning out of them, studying how they worked with their neighbors, analyzing whether their combination could lead to unintended side-effects.

After two weeks of intensive labor, he finished. It was one page. A single page of the tightest, most concise, most clear-cut writing he had ever produced. Once Death put this in the books, the loophole would be closed, and he’d be able to get Slick back to normal.

Then there was the other problem.

Death said to bring Slick to him. That was going to be a challenge.

Sleuth had experience dealing with Slick. They’d been rivals for a long time. For a while, even, they were caliginous. For a slightly longer while, they were flushed. Then for the rest of the while, they hated each other in an entirely platonic fashion. Sleuth had seen a lot of sides to the man, and every single one of them was pointy and dangerous, requiring the utmost caution.

“Caution” in this case could be described as kicking down the door to Slick’s apartment, yelling, “ _Slick’s a pussy ‘n if he don’t stab me for sayin’ so, he’s a double pussy!_ ”, and then running for his life.

He could tell by the gravelly screaming behind him that his insult had hit its mark. Sleuth lived in a state of constant trouble-making, so he was accustomed to running distances. He’d already confirmed that Death had a door three streets down, so he was reasonably sure he could make it there before Slick started throwing knives.

The path to the door required a few sharp turns, which made things a challenge since Slick, being lighter, could change direction easier than Sleuth could. The time it took for Sleuth to turn the doorknob was enough for Slick to finally close the distance, causing them to tumble into Death’s office in a heap, thanks to Slick tackling Sleuth. Thankfully, he noticed his surroundings before bringing the knife down on Sleuth. He stopped.

“This was a fuckin’ trap,” Slick growled. He pressed the knife to Sleuth’s throat. “You goddamn backstabbin’ piece’f--”

Sleuth’s voice came out a little more panicked than he liked. “A little help here!”

Death dumped a cup of tea on Slick’s head. Slick hissed and pressed the knife closer to Sleuth’s throat. Sleuth held his breath, because blood was already beading along the blade and he didn’t want to make that any worse.

“You’re in a rather precarious position, Slick,” Death said. “Come. Sit. Let’s see if we can’t come up with a way to settle this in a way that makes everyone happy.”

Slick glared up at Death, narrowing his eyes at the psychopomp. “Th’ fuck y’ talkin’ about? I ain’t dead. Y’ got nothin’ on me.”

“You’ve died quite a number of times. Maybe I’m not about to remain lenient on these matters.”

Slick stilled for a moment, then flipped the knife into a card and put it into his pocket.

And _then_ he flipped out a sword and decapitated Sleuth.

Sleuth came to a moment later, head replaced on his neck. Death, by then, had gotten Slick into a chair. Once he noticed Sleuth was awake, he walked over and held out a hand.

“I hope you’ve done your end of the bargain?”

Sleuth produced the piece of paper from his pocket, folded in fourths, and placed it in Death’s bony hands. “My best work.”

Death waved a hand and the law book appeared. He flipped through its numerous pages until he found the problematic one. He unfolded Sleuth’s new page, and placed it on top of the old one. With a small glow, the new page replaced the old one. Death looked it over, and then snapped the book shut, satisfied.

“It is done.” Death walked back to Slick, who had been watching the scene with a look of agitated bewilderment. “I regret to inform you, Spades Slick, that the loophole you have been so vigorously abusing has been closed. You can no longer return to life upon a death by decapitation.” Slick opened his mouth to retort, but Death didn’t falter. “ _Or_ through any similar means. The loophole is closed. From now on, if you die  it is permanent. Please cease and desist any further attempts at immortality.”

Slick cursed and screamed. He grabbed Death by the robe, and uttered some very creative threats about where he planned to stick every one of the deity’s bones. Sleuth pushed Slick back, only to get knocked on his ass.

“I will do one thing for you, Slick,” Death said as he helped Sleuth to his feet.

Slick spat at the ground and replied, “Yeah? Whazzat?”

Death carefully re-approached Slick, then grabbed him by the back of his hair and slammed his face into the tea table, enough to jar his brain.

“There,” Death said.

“Izze fixed?” Sleuth asked.

Slick cursed, covering his bleeding nose with his hands.

“Sure. Though, seeing as how you used the loophole just now--” Death approached Sleuth. Sleuth took a long step backward.

“You ain’t gonna--”

“No. Trust me.”

Death punched Sleuth in the face. Sleuth reeled backward. Death dusted his hands off, smiling. “There,” he said. “Everything’s fixed. Nobody’s crazy. Now I don’t want to see either of you, ever, until you’re actually dead.”

“What th’ _fuck!_ ” Slick screeched, knocking over the table. He pointed a sharp-nailed finger at Sleuth, baring his teeth. “What th’ FUCK did you do?!”

“My job,” Sleuth replied. He rubbed the sore spot on his jaw. That was going to bruise. Death’s hand was hard. “As th’ Chosen Arbiter, it’s my duty t’ sure up any legal issues that may arise in--”

Slick punched Sleuth in the face, right where Death had already hit him. Sleuth fell over. Slick pinned him down by means of straddling him, and punched him again.

“Fuck, Slick, y’ had t’ know this was gonna happen!” Sleuth yelled. “Y’ shoulda jus’ accepted the one second chance ‘n moved on. But y’ started flauntin’ it ‘n abusin’ things, of course ‘m gonna get called in to--”

“You’re a fuckin’ rat!” Slick screamed between punches. “You’re a fuckin’, lowly-ass, two-faced rat, you piece of shit! Always th’ same fuckin’ story with you! Goin’ behind my back! Ruinin’ a good time!”

Death hummed, a bystander to the violence. “Maybe it didn’t work. I’ll hit him again.”

“No,” Sleuth held back another punch. “This’s normal Slick.” He pulled one leg up and kicked Slick in the crotch, then pushed the temporarily disabled mobster off of him. He got back onto his feet, and placed a foot firmly on Slick’s back.

“Your mind should be clearer now,” he said. “Maybe you oughtta put some thought to th’ state of your Crew, ‘n what you need t’ do t’ get ‘em in order.”

Then, because he’d been punched too many times that day, Sleuth gave Slick a solid kick in the ribs before turning and leaving through the door from whence he came.

\----

**> Be Diamonds Droog.**

This was all unfamiliar to him.

For one, there was the city. On first glance, it wasn’t much different--just a mirror image of Midnight City. The details were different though, that much was clear. This city had a whole different history, different lives, different people and outcomes. Different choices. Different endings.

In his own world, the Crew had played an integral role in building the city. That’s why it was named for them. Here, though, the “Company” didn’t have that power, and the Scoundrels didn’t form until after the city had been established. Mobster Kingpin, who in Droog’s own timeline had just been a Crew ally who got a little too big for his britches, was the original tyrant of the city in this world. The Scoundrels formed after Kingpin had built the place and ruled it for several years, and assumed control over his crime network after killing him.

They all insist they’re doing a much better job than Kingpin. Droog figured that was probably true. Kingpin was, after all, an asshole who managed to get killed by a PS in more than one timeline. Pitiful, really. He was also horrible with numbers.

The difference in history led to strange differences in layout. Businesses that he didn’t expect to be there were. Places he thought would be universal constants weren’t. He would step into the shadows and teleport to where he thought something would be, and end up in the wrong place.

For another, he felt overburdened with the unfamiliarity that was his emotions.

He was used to everything being easy. Anything he wanted, he took. If anything wasn’t easy, he dedicated all of his attention to making it bow to his will. Nobody said no to Diamonds Droog. Nobody rejected Diamonds Droog.

None of that applied to romance, and before, he never bothered with it. Romance wasn’t something force would work on. He tried to take Pickle, but the detective told him no. There wasn’t anything else to do about it. This fact was infuriating. It was more infuriating because he knew that the Inspector _did_ want him. It was just the fact that Droog had stupidly strengthened his bonds to the Terrors that doomed the prospect. If he’d just waited, if he’d told the Terrors no, he would have what he wanted, and this wouldn’t be a problem.

He never realized how much the Inspector entered his thoughts as he went through his day. Now he was distinctly aware of it.

This was stupid. He was never meant to be this way. He really had gone soft.

And then, there were the Terrors.

He _had_ strengthened his bonds with Them.

They wouldn’t like the fact that he hasn’t done anything with his newfound power. Seeing through his eyes was one form of payment, but he knew that They agreed to the deal with expectations. Expectations that he was not making good on.

Droog had been put in charge of collecting protection money from the various businesses in the Scoundrels’ territory. He couldn’t complain about the assignment. Scofflaw trusted him with his money, thought he was intimidating enough to get the job done, and authorized him to use force if needed. The thing was, Droog was rapidly realizing that he didn’t know his way around town. Maybe this assignment was meant to familiarize him with it.

Innovator drew him a map of the city, but unsurprisingly, had been obtuse with it. Droog didn’t mind the challenge, figuring out Innovator’s cryptic instructions, but it didn’t help that Droog was already so distracted with his own personal turmoil.

His stomach burned. His magic was itching to be released.

He made his way from business to business, collecting dues. In between, he smoked like a chimney, lighting his cigarettes with purple flame and expelling noxious gas in some attempt to burn off the excess magic. He hoped someone would start something. He hoped someone would balk at seeing a new face collecting dues, or would object to the Scoundrels’ prices. Anything to give him an excuse to burn someone. Every time a customer would pay him without question, he was disappointed. He should have been glad to have a success to bring home to Scofflaw, but all he could think of was heat and embers, burning flesh, ~~Pickle Inspector squirming under him~~ , pained screaming, and--

God, it hurt.

He dropped his cigarette on the asphalt in a back alley. The burning in his gut was getting worse, and he could feel the ink working its way up his throat. He could barely breathe. He had to do something about this, before it overtook him.

He straightened up at the sound of someone approaching. A young man was entering the alley, lighting up a cigarette of his own, apparently unaware that anybody was here.

How fortuitous.

Droog slipped into the shadows, making himself invisible to the unaware bystander.

He was running ahead of schedule. He had time to draw this out.

\------

**> Be Hearts Boxcars.**

The couch in the Crew’s base had seen better days. Its dark upholstery hid a myriad of stains, some of them mundane, from ketchup or beer, and some… not so much.

Boxcars was making the problem worse by bleeding all over the thing.

Deuce sat on Boxcars’s lap, fussing over a bullet wound in the burly mobster’s side. Deuce’s magic was versatile, allowing him to create all sorts of magical bombs when mixed with the right substances. In its rawest form, it made him the best healer in the Crew. Alchemy on the fly, as the little guy puts it.

“Quit squirmin’,”

“I ain’t squirmin’,” Boxcars grunted. His hand covered his eyes, trying not to watch the gruesome scene. He had no problems with other people’s blood and guts, but his own? Hell no.

“I wish Droog was here,” Deuce said, quietly, pulling a piece of metal out of Boxcars’s torso. “He’d hold ya’ down so I could get this done faster.”

Boxcars only replied with a pained groan. Boxcars’s phone, on the table across from them, buzzed.

“Ya’ probably wouldn’t even be shot if he was here,” Deuce added, climbing down from the couch to pick Boxcars’s phone up. “‘Cause ya’ wouldn’ta got sent on a dangerous mission all on your own.”

Deuce climbed back onto Boxcars’s lap, and held the phone up. Boxcars took it, and read his new message while Deuce began the process of magically healing the wound.

The message was from Sleuth. It read, “ _Loophole’s closed. Slick’s back t normal but he’s probably real sore about it._ ”

It was enough for Boxcars to let out a sigh of relief, quickly followed by a howl of pain.

“Stop bein’ a baby!” Deuce said.

“Fuck,” Boxcars hissed. “This feels worse’n gettin’ shot.”

“‘S ‘cause when y’ get shot you got all that adrenaline goin’,” Deuce said distractedly. “Keeps ya’ from feelin’ it so you can do what ya’ gotta to not die.”

“Could use some’f that right now.”

“We ran outta painkillers.” Deuce finished with the wound, and sighed. “Droog always kept up with stockin’ that stuff.”

“He’ll come back,” Boxcars said, ruffling Deuce’s hair. Deuce made a face at him, so Boxcars showed him the text message. “See?”

Deuce brightened up, taking the phone out of Boxcars’s hand. “Holy shit he actually did it!”

Boxcars laughed, until he heard the sound of the manhole cover moving. He looked over to see Slick climbing into the base. Boxcars gave Deuce a look, and Deuce switched off the phone’s screen.

“Hey boss!” Deuce said, tossing the phone into the couch cushions. He peered at Slick across the back of the couch, as the crime boss hopped off the last few ladder rungs. “What happened to your face?”

“Nothin’,” Slick muttered, wiping blood from under his nose. “Boxcars, you better not be naked over there.”

“Jus’ shirtless, boss,” Boxcars replied.

Slick pulled off his jacket and threw it to the side. “Well get un-shirtless. No one wants t’ see your fat rolls.”

“I do!” Deuce beamed, and he gave Boxcars’s stomach a solid _pap_ to demonstrate his appreciation.

“How y’ feelin’, boss?” Boxcars asked, reaching for his shirt.

“I’m feelin’ fuckin’ fine ‘n dandy!” Slick answered. “Fuckin’ Sleuth comes ‘n kicks down my door and then pulls some absolute _bullshit_ with Death and--fuck it, jus’, fuck it. Fuck!”

Slick punched the wall with his metal hand. The resulting _THUD_ resonated through the room. Slick stomped to his room and slammed the door behind him.

“I think that was ‘n improvement,” Deuce said. “Prolly.”

Boxcars shrugged. “Let’s give him some time t’ calm down. C’mon.”

Boxcars scooped Deuce up. Deuce wrapped his arms around Boxcars’ neck, but continued to watch Slick’s door. Boxcars carried him into his bedroom, intending to watch TV or something to stay out of Slick’s way while his mind settled down from… whatever the hell had been wrong with it.

That’s one thing fixed. Now they just had to sort out everything else.


	10. Chapter 10

**> Be Problem Sleuth.**

Sleuth let himself into Pickle Inspector’s apartment after his hours in the office were over. Pickle had given him a key to his place ages ago, partly so that Sleuth could come check on him when he was on a bender, and partly because if he was on a bender and Sleuth didn’t have a key, Sleuth would just kick the door down.

It was something he did often. Doorknobs aren’t manly.

Pickle’s apartment was always a strange mixture of clean and messy. The floor was always spotless, no dust to speak of, but clutter reigned. The bookshelves were full to nearly bursting with books, magazines, and newspapers; tables were piled high with notebooks and pencils. The sink didn’t have any food-covered dishes, but there were plenty of teacups and spoons, rinsed off but not properly scrubbed.

Pickle was sitting upside-down on his battered grey couch, with his back on the seat cushion, his head hanging over the edge, and his legs hooked over the back of the couch. Upon seeing Sleuth, the taller detective squinted at him, then took a long swig from a nearby bottle of whiskey. He swallowed, coughed, and then said, “Mission briefing?”

Sleuth nodded, then sat down next to Pickle.

“I got th’ loophole fixed,” he explained, taking the bottle from Pickle. “Slick’s back t’ normal, supposedly, but I ain’t seen ‘im since that.”

Sleuth took a drink. Pickle hummed.

“That’s promising,” he said, distantly.

“What about you?” Sleuth asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Any progress convincing Droog?”

“It’ssss. Complicated.” Pickle slurred.

“Tell me about it.”

Pickle did, in fact, tell him about it. The visit, the kiss, the confusion. Once he was done, Sleuth let out a long sigh.

“Well,” he said, handing the bottle back to Pickle. “Y’ live up t’ your name, don’tcha? Jus’ always pickles with you.”

Pickle let out a sad whine.

“I mean,” Sleuth elaborated. “On one hand, prolly for th’ best. Droog ‘n you? Seems like a disaster.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Pickle spat, before drinking.

“I mean, y’know, he’s. I dunno. He’d make a great hatemate--”

“I don’t do blackrom, Sleuth.”

“--’n that’s fair! But can y’ imagine him in a flushed relationship? Diamonds Droog dealin’ with feelin’s that ain’t anger ‘n sadism? Like, can y’ even get your head around it?”

“Unfortunately, I can.” Pickle rolled off the couch, so he could stand, stretch, and then sit back down, right side up. “But you m--may be right. I ssssuspect that he’s only acting on his feelings because of this… this unique situation. The threat of not seeing me again. The knowledge that once the rift closes, he won’t h-have to deal with, you know. The realities of being in a relationship.”

Sleuth nodded. “Sounds like ‘im.”

Pickle groaned. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and rested his head on them. “I want this, Sleuth. I--I want _him_. But. But he’s too close to the Terrors, even if--if I get him to come back, he--he’s dangerous. He may be too dangerous to allow to come back! I don’t know what to do.”

Sleuth put a hand on Pickle’s shoulder.

Objectively, it would be better to just close the Rift with Droog on the other side. Leave the Crew weakened, eliminate a dangerous person. As lawmen, that should be ideal, but the reality wasn’t so cut and dry. Innovator would never cooperate with closing the Rift while Droog was still there. For better or worse, they had to bring him back.

Sleuth would never admit it, but even without Innovator being so intransigent, he’d never leave Droog behind. It was his job to take Droog down, and letting him run away was out of the question.

“Maybe this’s somethin’ we can use,” Sleuth said, carefully. “Like. Don’ lead him on or nothin’. I ain’t gonna ask ya’ t’ be slimy. But maybe it’s good that he’s got one more thing that he won’ wanna leave behind.”

“I guess,” Pickle said, face still buried in his knees.

“We should probably sober ya’ up soon,” Sleuth said, rubbing Pickle’s back. He reached for the bottle of whiskey.

Pickle hissed at him, like a cat, and chugged the rest of the bottle. Sleuth shook his head.

“Okay, okay. I’ll jus’... go make ya’ some tea.”

\-----

**> Be Diamonds Droog.**

Diamonds Droog was not usually a “drinking alone at a bar” type. That was more Pickle Inspector’s style, but sometimes it was just that kind of week.

The feeling in his stomach wouldn’t subside. There was a crawling under his skin, a rumbling in his viscera, like something was growing and moving about in its new quarters. Something was coming.

He didn’t notice Scofflaw approaching, which was unusual for him. Scofflaw sat down across from him, carrying a pint glass and a pitcher of beer. He poured himself a pint.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice smooth even over the noise of the bar. “Hear you’ve been busy.”

“I’m always busy,” Droog replied.

“I mean th’ kinda busy that ends’n you havin’ t’ dispose’f a body.”

Droog tensed subconsciously. “It was a relatively easy body to dispose.”

“Ain’t met a body yet that wasn’t,” Scoff said over his beer.

Droog put his drink down on the table. “Is me killing somebody a problem?”

“I mighta been workin’ on a deal with that guy.”

He didn’t make a big deal out of it, but there was an edge to his voice. Droog took a moment to digest it, which was difficult, because whatever was wriggling in his guts was in the way.

“I see,” he said, finally, before taking a long drink. “Should I assume from this point forward that everyone in this city is someone you’re working a deal with?”

“No, but maybe y’ oughtta be a li’l more careful.” Scofflaw shrugged as if this wasn’t a big deal, but Droog knew it was an act. “The hell’d y’ kill ‘im for, anyway?”

Droog thought about how to answer.

 _I was angry the man I love won’t be with me?_ __  
_I deal with sexual tension by mutilating people?_ _  
_ _I desperately needed to burn off excess magic because I made a deal with the Terrors behind your back to take over your universe?_

“I was… frustrated,” Droog said, at last.

Scofflaw raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not clarifying,” Droog added, before finishing his drink.

“Oh good.” Scofflaw refilled Droog’s glass with beer, without regard for the fact that Droog had not been drinking beer to begin with. “‘N here I was afraid you was gonna be too talkative.”

Droog looked down at the drink. “If you’re here to berate me for killing that guy, get it over with.”

Scoff shook his head. “I’m jus’ confused, is all. Here when y’ signed up I thought I was gettin’ th’ most competent guy out there.”

“I’m flattered.”

“But now’t you’re here, your mind ain’t in the game. You’re killin’ my guys outta ‘frustration’.” He made air quotes with his fingers.

“It was one mistake, and it will not happen again,” Droog assured him, before taking a drink. For a beer, it was all right, but beer was never something he cared for.

“It better not.”

“It won’t.” Droog paused. “What kind of deal was it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Some li’l shits’ve been stealin’ some of our shipments. He knew where they been hidin’.” Scofflaw drank some of his beer, seeming to enjoy it more than Droog did. “I was workin’ on sweet-talkin’ ‘im int’ tellin’ me, but so much for that.”

Droog stared into his glass, at the tiny bubbles drifting up into the head at the top of the drink. “I should have been more careful.”

“Yeah,” Scoff said with a sigh. “So now I’m gonna hafta, I dunno. Set up a stakeout or somethin’. So much more work.”

Droog put his head in his hand, covering his eyes. “This was a bad idea. Why can’t anything go as planned?”

“Because y’ need t’ let me do all th’ plannin,” Scofflaw replied.

Droog glared out at him from between his fingers. “I highly doubt you can plan for the problems I’m dealing with. They’re very… personal.”

Scoff rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Lord. You havin’ boy problems? Izzat it?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You’re damn right.” Scoff pointed an accusing finger at Droog. “But y’ know damn well that y’ can’t let personal problems get in th’ way of shit. That’s how people like us get killed.”

Droog looked back up at Scofflaw. “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t happen in the future.”

“Good.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, drinking their beers. Droog felt more miserable than before.

Did he ever feel this miserable when he was back home? Certainly he got angry and frustrated, but he never felt this sort of unease with Slick like he did with Scofflaw. Was it the lack of familiarity? Would this feeling go away with time?

Was this whole thing just a huge mistake…?

No. Slick wasn’t the same person anymore. That stupid loophole had changed him. There was no going back now.

“I apologize,” Droog said, once his drink was done.

“I’ll letcha make it up to me,” Scofflaw said, smiling that sharp smile of his.

“How so?”

“Fix th’ problem y’ fucked up. Find my li’l pests ‘n exterminate ‘em for me.”

Now this was a welcome change. Droog straightened up. “I can do that. When and where were the last three thefts?”

“Th’ south docks. Friday las’ week, then Wednesday, then Monday th’ week before.”

Scofflaw went to refill Droog’s glass again, but Droog raised a hand to stop him. He stood up.

“They’ll be dead by tomorrow,” he said, straightening out his suit.

Droog put his hat on, then moved to leave. Scofflaw held an arm out. Droog stopped.

“Hey,” Scofflaw said, quietly. “I own brothels, y’know. If’n y’ need t’ deal with your ‘frustration’.”

Droog’s face remained impassive. “No, thank you.”

“They’ll even stutter for ya’.”

The knowing smile that Scofflaw gave him was disgusting. Droog smacked Scofflaw’s arm out of his way.

“Don’t toy with me, Scofflaw,” he growled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Droog walked out of the bar, lighting a cigarette on his way out.

\-----

**> Be Clubs Deuce, but later.**

Droog wasn’t really an easy guy to find. In fact, Droog was probably the _hardest_ guy to find, if you didn’t know him well. Deuce knew him well enough to know not only his patterns, but his likes and dislikes and all the small personal things. Because he _asked_. And then forgot ten minutes later and asked again and then had Droog write it down in one of his designated ‘Droog’ notebooks so he could carry that around with him in case he forgot about anything else. Deuce had probably about a million notebooks at this point with different information he wouldn’t forget in them, but he barely remembered where any of them were or what was even in any of them or even if any of the labels were correct.

But he did pay attention to the Droog one, because that one was important. He kept in on him as often as he could, but not as often as Boxcars or Slicks. Those ones were important too, but with Droog not being around it made needing the stuff he likes irrelevant.

But he had it with him now, because he was going to see Droog. His shadow print was completely irreplaceable, and Deuce was definitely the best at tracking with shadow magic. (Droog likes to think he’s the best at tracking but he’s not! He’s not the best at a lot of things-- he’s just really good at being scary about it.)

He’d probably be surprised to see him.

Deuce rang the doorbell, like a gentleman! Because Droog would appreciate that!

He’s not surprised when Droog seems...well...surprised to see him. He knew he would! That’s why he came all this way.

He beamed at Droog. Boy was it good to see his face. “Hiya Droog! You don’ know how hard it was for me to find you!”

Droog, in what looked like….panic? Droog could panic? Droog pulled him into the building, quickly shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Not so loud.” Droog urged him. He looked bad. Worse than Deuce ever remembered seeing him. He had some hair out of place. How unsightly. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Looking for you?” That was a silly question. What _else_ could Deuce be there for? “You should come back to Midnight City.”

“Absolutely not.” Droog’s expression was a sort of _you did something wrong but I'm not going to tell you about it_ look. Deuce missed it. “I refuse to go back as long as Slick continues to rampage like an imbecile.

Oh! Slick! That’s right. _That_ was what he came here for. “Yeah but, he’s not anymore? Sleuth brought him ta Death and wrote a whole paper closing off the loophole. Slick’s back to normal again!”

Droog’s eyebrows shot up. Probably the only way anyone could tell that he was surprised. “I find that incredibly hard to b--”

Droog coughed, doubling over as the fit overwhelmed him. He brought a hand to his mouth, as though to vomit, and then hit his chest with a fist twice. He looked like he was forcing something down. Deuce looked at him carefully and realized how bad he looked.

“You’ve got bags under your eyes.” Deuce took a step forward. “And that sounded bad. Real bad. Wet bad. Do you need help?”

“No,” was Droog’s immediate response. Typical. “I’m… fine. It’s just the terrors taking their toll on me after all this continued cohabitation.”

Cohabitation…

Deuce furrowed his brows. “Droog... do you have a terror… livin’ inside you?”

Droog took a deep breath and walked over to the couch in the living room. He carefully lowered himself onto it, like he was fighting every instinct to not just plop down on it like Deuce would. Deuce can kind of understand.

It took Droog a while to speak. Deuce wasn’t good with long silences, but he waited nonetheless. “You cannot tell Slick what I am about to tell you,” he started. “Regardless of whether or not he’s back to normal, I don’t want his judgement. The only reason I’m going to tell you anything is because I’m certain you’ll forget half of it. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Right... well…” He took a second to pull out a cigarette, lighting it with a flame that was bigger than Deuce was used to seeing him spark. He put it out quickly. “... When Slick went senile and failed to consider us and our safety, I had to leave. That kind of environment isn’t conducive to a positive work environment. After finding out that there was an alternate universe where everything was backwards, I was intrigued by the prospect of a negative Pickle Inspector. A person tied so closely to both creation and destruction, that I had to investigate.”

“And it’s definitely not ‘cause ya had a crush on him, right?” Deuce ribbed him. He got a glare in response.

“No. Loathe as I am to admit it, I followed him seeking… power.” His head dropped slightly. “What a trivial pursuit. The oldest temptation, and I fell to it so easily. I thought to myself: ‘If Pickle Inspector, a man with a frail constitution and alcoholic tendencies that interfere with his daily life, can harness both the power of the gods _and_ the power of the dark in another universe, then what’s stopping me, someone far more capable, from doing the same?’”

“Yeah but…you’re not connected ta any gods.” Deuce reminded him.

“Technically, no. We are connected to something far greater.” Droog looked off towards the window, like he was seeing something, but not really. “For if God is creation, then what can kill it but Destruction? Our terrors are the embodiment of godly power. So...I allowed one to use me for a period. I would become It’s eyes and ears in this realm, and in return it would give me limitless power beyond what I found myself previously capable. I thought that by strengthening my contract I would be able to ascend to...something greater than what Slick limited me to. Limited _us_ to.”

His voice took on a weird tone, Deuce thought. Like he was sad. “Doesn’t sound like it did ya any good.”

Droog shook his head. “It did not. I had a conversation with the Inspector about his connection to the godhead and he enlightened me to the fact that he can feel the terrors on the edge of his consciousness. That his life and connection is a constant incomprehensible struggle. I realized that if a being with all that power could succumb so easily to it, then I, a machination of ambition and desperation to be something more, would fall just as easily. I was a fool, and this is where it landed me. In a safehouse in a universe I don’t belong in, plagued by a terror I invited into my body in a show of stupidity. My quest for power will surely be the death of me.”

“Then... why not come back?” Deuce tilted his head and swung his feet. They couldn’t touch the ground if they tried. “Slick’s all fixed up, and I’m pretty sure Sleuth can fix any terror stuff in you with his divine light powers. If those are actually real. I don’t remember ever seein’ them so I can’t uh... confirm it.”

He shook his head again. Deuce didn’t like that he kept getting that response. “Absolutely not. This position I have... it’s comfortable. Scofflaw is a good boss, he takes care of his men. All of my needs are met and the jobs I get sent on are productive and make good use of my skills and power. Not once has he disapproved of or berated me for a suggestion in a meeting. Not once has he tried to kill me or stab me for having ‘bad intel’. He treats me like an equal even though by all means he shouldn’t. I may not belong to this city or to The Scoundrels fully, but he treats me like I do, and that makes all the difference.” He turns to Deuce with a stern look on his face. “I sacrificed everything I had to build Midnight City with Slick, and the only thing I got for it was a knife in the chest. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t deserve me.”  
  
“It doesn’t deserve you? Or Slick doesn’t deserve you?”

“Both.” Droog stood up carefully, walking over to the door and opening it. “I’m not going back to Midnight City. Not unless it proves it needs me. Until then, I’m going to stay with The Scoundrels and figure out what I want to do next. I appreciate you stopping by, Deuce, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Deuce frowned and hopped off the couch. “Fine. I get it. You’re happy here. Even if you don’t look or sound it an’ you’re dying. But whatever! It’s not like _I_ need you to help me keep my head on half the time. Or to bounce ideas around with or remind me when I gotta take my anxiety meds when I forget. It’s not like Boxcars needs you to console him when he watches a really bad movie that gets him cryin’ all over. It’s not like he misses you when he cooks and has been makin’ dishes you like with the hopes you’ll come back ta eat ‘em someday. It’s not like we don’t worry about you all the time...” The smaller mobster walked over to the door and stopped just before the doorway, clenching his fists as he glared out into the streets. “You’re my family, Droog. I thought I was yours too.”

Droog didn’t have any words for him when he left. He could find the rift on his own.

Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that end bit there! - Hanari


	11. Chapter 11

**> Be Diamonds Droog, in the past.**

The Rift hadn’t grown since they last visited, Droog noted. That was good. He was only gone for a day, so he didn’t expect much change, but it gave him a sense of comfort that it didn’t do anything at all. Not knowing anything about the Rift-- not knowing if it was more powerful than him--was unsettling.

He pushed the thought to the back of his head as he and Slick approached it.

“Are you sure about this?” He looked over at Slick, who was staring into the void like it was some kind of plague he’d rather not have to deal with.

“Am I ever sure about anythin’?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Look, this may be th’ only lead we got.” Slick was tense, wound up, with his eyes focused on the rift with purpose. Whatever Slick was doing this for was beyond him. Droog wouldn’t pry.

They walked through the portal one after the other. There was a cold transition between the two sides and he could feel the tear in space ripple around him as he passed through it. He looked over at Slick and saw the same uncomfortable feeling pass through him.

“So,” Droog started, looking up at the tall buildings before him. “Where do we begin?”

Slick walked ahead of him, silent for a minute as he took in his surroundings. “This is supposed t' be, like, a paradox clone of Midnight City, right?”

“A mirror would probably be the better term.” It felt like a mirror to him. Everything was on the exact opposite side of where it was on their side of the Rift. The bridge toll was on the right, the building landmark that welcomed outsiders into the city was on the left, the signs on the intersections were switched. He knew their city like the back of his hand, and everything here was completely and totally opposite.

It weirded him out.

“Yeah, that.” Slick snapped him out of his thoughts. “May as well check out where our base of operations would be. See if shit’s exactly th' same, placement-wise.”

“There’s bound to be some differences in the ‘what’, moreso than the ‘where’--” Droog took note of how quiet the streets on the outskirts were. Either this city had a curfew, or the night owls were just too terrified to party. It was a Saturday. There should be people outside.  “--Considering we’re on the side of the law over here. It would be safe to assume that, since we’re detectives, our parallel base would be Sleuth’s building.” 

“Gross.”

“Agreed.”

“Guess we’d better get walkin’, then.” Slick stopped at a crossroad and checked the sign, turning the opposite direction of where he would normally turn to get to the flatfoots’ building. They made it several city blocks in silence, quietly observing the buildings around them. The closer they got to the center of the city, the more signs of street life seemed to pop up. Bright lights over bars and cabarets and few people mingling outside reassured them that yes, people did live here after all. The night was very alive in this city, just as it was in theirs.

Droog wasn’t sure why the thought of other people outside at night was a relief to him. He attested it to thinking that Scofflaw couldn’t be that intimidating of a kingpin. Even if he had been following them for several blocks.

“Boss.”

“Th’ fuck you want now?”

“We’re not alone.” Droog stopped walking and turned toward a particularly shadowy and unlit alleyway they’d just passed by. “You can come out now, Scofflaw.”

A laugh sounded from the shadows, followed by a voice.

_ ‘Can’t get anythin’ past ol’ Dickie here, can I?’ _

He materialized out of the ground on cue, tipping his hat and grinning a sharp smile at them.

“Allow me t’ welcome ya’ to Metropolis Central.”

“Son of a bitch!” Slick cursed, watching Scofflaw pop out from the shadows. “Of all people.”

“I had a feeling this would happen,” Droog said, speaking to Slick as though Scofflaw wasn’t even there. “It was only a matter of time before we caught his attention.”

Scofflaw frowned at them, and then immediately settled into his regular charismatic persona. “Hey, you’re gettin’ greeted by th’ king'f the city.  Y’ oughtta be flattered.”

“I’d call it mild annoyance, actually,” Droog replied, listening to Slick mumble a ‘ _ mild’s too flattering _ ’ behind him. 

Scofflaw spoke with mock hurt. “Ya’ wound me. ‘n here I was gonna offer t’ show ya around.”

**_‘He don’t know wounds yet.’_ **

Droog glanced over at Slick, whose eyes were narrowed. He’d resorted to telepathy, so it would seem. It was an ability the Crew shared, part of the suite of powers their magic granted them. Slick slipped a hand into his pocket, more than likely for a knife.

“Slick, don’t.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently, as Slick snapped his gaze over to Droog, his single eye glaring metaphorical daggers at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what t'do and what not t'do,” he hissed at Droog. “That’s  _ my _ fuckin’ job. Not yours.”

Droog reeled internally. He never reeled externally. He never showed anything externally. “I was going to say, before you stab him, since we’re here anyway,” he said, careful in his approach. “A tour would be a good idea.”

“Yeah, there y’ go. Listen t’ Dickie. He knows what’s up.” Scofflaw tried to help, albeit from a distance.

Slick looked at Scoff, then back at Droog, his eyebrows knitted in reluctance. 

**_‘D’we have to?’_ **

Droog looked back.

**_‘Play nice for once, for christ sakes’_ **

**_‘Stop tellin’ me what to do.’_ **

**_‘Then make a decision.’_ **

Slick growled at him, the telepathic thoughts moving quickly between them. Scofflaw waited patiently for both of them, seemingly unbothered by the long stretch of silence.

**_‘Fine. But he pulls anything funny, and he’s another stain on my knife.’_ **

**_‘Whatever you say, Boss.”_ **

**_“Damn straight.”_ **

“Y’know what?” Slick turned to Scofflaw, who seemed to perk up. “Maybe you showin’ us around ain’t a bad idea.”

Scofflaw grinned and teleported between them, tossing an arm over each of their shoulders, like the three of them were old pals. “That’s th’ way! I’ll show y’all th’ best parts’f the city.”

Droog grimaced at Scofflaws arm over his shoulder. From what he could see, Slick was feeling the same amount of discomfort. Scofflaw’s clinginess was an issue, but an issue that would be tolerated while they were there.

“We’d be honored.” Droog said, ignoring his boss’s mental protests of  **‘** **_he’s touching me_ ** **’** . It seemed as though he would be the one doing the talking on this trip. “In fact, there is one place we were hoping to see.”

“Th’ Company’s offices, yeah?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure. I think I c’n manage that.”  Scofflaw let go of them and walked forward, beckoning for them to follow. They did.

**_‘And another thing,’_ ** Slick thought, glancing over at Droog as they trailed behind Scofflaw.  **_‘You’ve been havin’ this air of superiority lately like yer runnin’ the joint. Knock it off.’_ **

**_‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’_ **

**_‘Y’know damn well what i’m talkin’ about.’_ **

**_‘I’m not running anything Slick. You’re the boss, you always have been and always will be.’_ **

**_‘Damn straight.’_ **

“You’re awful quiet back there, darlin’s!” Scofflaw’s voice broke them out of their silent conversation. “Ev’rythin’ alright?”

“Ain’t you the tour guide? You should be the one talkin’,” Slick replied

“Hmm. ‘sa good point.” Scofflaw brought a hand up to his chin. “Not sure where t’ start though. There’s too much, y’know?”

Droog knew exactly where to start. “Tell us about our counterparts.”

“Hah, what’s t’ tell? They’re a bunch'f annoyin’ lawmen.”

Slick made a face.

**_‘Gross.’_ **

“Are they good at what they do?” Droog questioned.

“Well, ’s good’s they can be, considerin’ they’re up against impossible odds.” Scofflaw waved a hand vaguely. “You, Dickie, your counterpart’s pretty much th’ best there is. Good enough he got booted out'f th’ Fuzz. Guess they got tired'f him showin’ 'em up.”

Droog could tell there was more to the story than that, but kept his thoughts quiet. He felt a bit of satisfaction knowing that he was just as competent in this universe as he was his own. Slick let out a disbelieving ‘mhm’ beside him.

“’n Scooter, well. He don’t give up. I’ll give ‘im that.”

“What about the other two?” Droog asked.

“Demo 'n Brawler?” Scofflaw flicked his hand in a dismissal. “Obnoxious. I usually jus’ sic Delly on 'em.”

Slick raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“More than likely their AD,” Droog answered. This earned him another glare.

“When th’ fuck did  _ you  _ get so smart about this place?”

“I’m thinking logically.” He answered. His response struck another one of Slick’s nerves, and the mob boss’s glare only deepened.

“I’m curious though.” Scofflaw interjected, before Slick could do or say anything. “I know th’ other me’s ‘Sleuth’ or whatever,  but what’s ev'ryone else’s names?”

“Problem Sleuth, Pickle Inspector, and Ace Dick,” Droog replied without missing a beat.

**_‘You’re just gonna give it ta him, like that?!’_ ** Slick chided.

**_‘He’ll find out eventually.’_ **

“Ohmygod.” Scofflaw laughed, speaking between breaths. “Ohmygod, hold up, I gotta tell Inny that one. Holy shit.” He pulled out his phone as they turned a corner, presumably texting Innovator was. Scofflaw snickered a little bit and tucked his phone away. Droog took advantage of the lull in conversation and turned to Slick.

**_‘Boss, take over the conversation.’_ **

That granted him a questioning look. Slick was giving him quite the number of looks this evening. He continued.

**_‘I’m going to sweep the city, I need to concentrate.’_ **

**_‘Th'fuck do I say to him??’_ **

“So, Scooter.” Scofflaw called back, offering Droog his chance. “What all’s you guys’ names? I ain’t even asked.”

“I might tell ya, if ya fuckin’ stop callin’ me Scooter.”

Droog stayed back a step, looking around at the buildings before closing his eyes, focusing on the shadows in the city around him and…

He could see the layout of the city in his mind. The more he concentrated, the more he could see. Sweeping the city through its shadows reassured him that yes, this place was exactly backwards in architectural design than that of Midnight City. There were several different buildings, however, and barely anything underground. He couldn’t see exactly what any of the buildings were, of course--it wasn’t as though his magic sight made him omniscient. But he could feel the densities, as it were. The differences between open air and hard concrete. 

And, strangely enough, there were a number of areas that he couldn’t see. There were barriers around them, shadow magic barriers put up by someone who was more proficient than himself in that field. One of them was much larger than the other ones.

He filed the information away for later use. He opened his eyes and refocused on the conversation at hand, which had barely progressed in his concentrative state.

“It’d be easier t’ stop callin’ ya’ Scoot if'n I knew your real name.”

Slick sighed. “Spades Slick.”

**_‘Well?’_ **

“Slick.” Scofflaw smiled as they turned another corner. “I like that.”

“’N that’s Diamonds Droog.” Slick continued, jerking his thumb at Droog “Right hand man to th’ boss.  _ Me _ .”

“I do what I can,” Droog added.

**_‘There are multiple places in the city surrounded by shadow magic barriers. I can try seeing through them, but it would give me a headache.’_ **

“The other two are Clubs Deuce and Hearts Boxcars.”

“’s nice.” Scofflaw complimented them. “Y’ got a theme goin’. Very cool.”

“Kinda th’ point.” Slick mumbled.

“Hey, hey, ’m tryin'a pay ya’ a compliment.” Scofflaw stopped walking and turned around towards them. “So uh, Droog, darlin’,” Scofflaw said, his voice sweet. “Y’ mind tellin’ me what you was up to, there?" 

Droog’s expression didn’t change. “Excuse me?”

**_‘Did he just call me darling? That’s new.’_ **

Slick’s eye twitched. 

**_‘I’ll kill ‘im.’_ **

**_‘Slick, please.’_ **

Scofflaw just kept smiling. “Don’t play dumb, sweetheart.”

Droog didn’t skip a beat, not bothering to get stuck on the fact that he’d been caught. “I was searching the city to see if there were any major differences from our city’s layout.” He glanced around. “Aside from being completely backwards.”

“Hmm.” Scofflaw wasn’t buying it. “Izzat all?”

Slick sneered. “Ain’t we nosy.”

Droog replied, “That’s all.”

**_‘Don’t insult him. We’re in his city.’_ **

“I gotta right t’ be nosy. You’re on my turf, if'n you forgot.”

“I didn’t mean to cross a line.” Droog said.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Slick slowly turned his head and glared at Droog with his eye narrowed. He looked like he might lash out at any moment, and Droog wondered if Slick would do so with Scofflaw watching.

“Th’ fuck did I just get through tellin’ you.” Slick hissed. He continued, but telepathically.  **_‘You’re apologizin’ now? I don’t know who you are anymore_ ** _.’ _

**_‘It’s called being cordial, you ass._** **_You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t have to threaten to stab people to get what you want.’_**

“Darlin’s, darlin’s!” Scofflaw said, holding his hands up. “No need t’ be so tense.”

Slick ignored him completely. He was on a warpath, and didn’t realize how strange it looked that the two of them were just glaring at each other silently.   **_‘We’re a fuckin’ mob, Droog. We don’t get by by bein’ soft and courteous and rollin’ over fer people. We get what we want by force. That’s how this shit works. 'n if y'ain’t caught on t'that by now, then what th'fuck have you been doin’ this whole time?!’_ **

Droog glanced at Scofflaw, then back at his boss. Even his inner thoughts sounded cool as a cucumber. 

**_‘He owns this city, we’re not on our turf. It you fuck up here there will be a literal war between the two worlds. Is that what you want? Another goddamned war?’_ **

Scofflaw lit a cigarette, taking a step back.

Droog shifted. “You know what,” he said. “As…  _ pleasant _ as this has been, I don’t think either of you need me around. I’ve already surveyed the city, that’s all I wanted. I’ll head back.”

Slick looked from Droog, to Scoff, then back.  **_‘What are you doing?!’_ **

“Aww!” Scofflaw exhaled a puff of smoke. “Y’ gonna leave me 'n Slick all alone together?”

**_‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare!’_ ** Slick was visibly uncomfortable.

**_‘You’re welcome to join me_ ** **,’** Droog replied before adding, to Scofflaw, “I gathered that you would have preferred it, actually.”

“I do, in fact.” Scofflaw grinned at Slick, looking downright predatory as he sized the shorter mob boss up. Slick refused to look at him. Droog nodded.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Droog turned and walked away. He walked down the city streets, backtracking towards the Rift, only to be rejoined by Slick after a few minutes. Slick grabbed onto Droog’s arm and practically dragged him along. Droog nearly tripped at the abrupt pull.

“What did he try to do?” Droog asked.

“Tried t' threaten me t' get cozy with ‘im by sayin’ he was gonna go after you if I didn’t.” Slick spat before shaking his head, throwing his free arm out in an exaggerated manner. “Th'fuck is with this guy??”

“He’s probably criminally insane, so there’s that,” The taller man said before pulling his arm out of Slick’s grip. Droog didn’t appreciate being pulled on. “Or it could be the Pulchritude giving him an ego boost.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Slick sneered, glancing behind them before picking up his pace. “I jus’ wanna get th'fuck away from him.”

In a matter of minutes, the two of them were crossing over the rift into their familiar city. Taking a deep breath, Slick looked to Droog, a look of curiosity on his face. “Is that really all y' wanted?” he asked. “Survey th' city?”

Droog didn’t answer immediately, instead straightening out his suit. The Rift made him feel out of sorts, and he needed to assure himself that he was still put together. “Yes,” he finally said, once he was satisfied. “That’s all I wanted to do. Why, what did you think I was doing?” His brow raised. “Looking for something?”

Slick just stared at him, expression filled with realization. His eyes narrowed as the corner of his mouth curled upward in a sneer, and Slick brought his arm back and propelled it straight into Droog’s face.

Droog clamped his hand over his cheekbone, rubbing at it as he stared down at his boss. “What the hell was that for?!”

“NEVER. Contradict me in front of th' enemy. Ever,” he said in a low but aggressive tone, pointing his finger at him threateningly. “And this whole--” He put his fingers up for quotations. “‘Cordial’ bullshit. It better change. Courtesy is best on the dames. Not creepy fuckin’ horndog twerps.”

Droog let out a low scoff. “What was I going to do, treat him like an enemy to his face?”

“I did that and he was drinkin’ it right up!”

Droog crossed his arms. Of course Scofflaw would revel in Slick’s ire. “Well, he wanted to fuck you, so that’s not an argument.”

Slick visibly shuddered in disgust. “Shut th’ fuck up, you piece’f--”

“Is it so shocking?” Droog added. “He’s a PS after all, and you and Sleuth--”

“I said,  _ shut th’ fuck up! _ ” Slick screeched, stomping a foot on the cracked old pavement. “Me ‘n Sleuth ain’t nothin’, ‘n Scofflaw’s a creepy fuck!” 

Droog was unaffected by Slick’s discomfort, seeing as how he continued speaking. “We are literally on the edge of another universe. There are things going on that we don’t understand and we can’t control.” He looked over at the Rift, and Slick followed his gaze. “If we aggravate any of it, if we aggravate  _ him _ , who knows what will happen?”

Slick looked back at Droog incredulously, hooking his thumbs on his beltloops. “I doubt he’s capable of bein’ aggravated, honestly." 

"He’s a PS, there’s always a way.”

Taking a deep breath, Slick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Les’ jus’ go home.” He sighed, letting his arms drop down to his sides. “Figure out what t'do from there.”

“ _ You _ can go back to the base if you’d like,” Droog responded.

“And where’re you goin’?” Slick asked.

“Somewhere else.” Droog started to walk in the opposite direction, then added as an afterthought, “If you really want to know. I’m going to one of my apartments.”

“Fer what?”

“A break.”

Slick growled. "Fine. Y'better check back with me later.”

“I will.”

Droog rubbed his face as he walked, frustrated beyond reason. This was stupid. Slick had no business coming across the Rift, not while he’s so unable to control himself. Neither of them had any idea how powerful the Scoundrels were, or even whether or not they had made the Rift themselves, and here Slick could have provoked a war with them. What the hell was wrong with him? He usually knew better than this.

“This was a disaster,” Droog mumbled, under his breath. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

Saying that was also a bad idea. 

“‘Scuse me??” Slick’s footsteps stopped, then came closer at a hurried pace. “How fuckin’ dare you.” He growled, speaking a little louder now since he was quite a few yards away. “You’ve been pushin’ my goddamn buttons ALL night, and I’m gettin’ REAL sick of it, REAL fast.”

Droog rolled his eyes and kept walking. “Then I’ll leave so you won’t have to deal wi--” 

Before he could finish the sentence, multiple black tendrils reached up from Droog’s very own shadow, wrapping around his frame, anchoring him in place. Slick let out a low, wry chuckle. 

“Ohhh no. Y'ain’t walkin’ away from this, Droog.” He took his first step, making his way towards his trapped companion. Droog had heard this tone of voice from his boss before, but never directed at him. “I’ve had enough.”

“Slick.” Other people wouldn’t have been able to detect the distress in Droog’s voice, but he knew Slick would. They’d been together long enough. “Don’t do this.”

The simple plea fell on deaf ears as Slick just grew more and more irritated with every word. Slick walked into Droog’s field of vision, his face darkened with rage. “Don’t. Tell me. What. To. DO.”

“Boss, I–”

“No, shut th'fuck up. I think y' need t' be put back in yer fuckin’ place, Droog.” He barked out. “Cause clearly, yer outta fuckin’ line!”

Droog started to struggle against the tendrils. “…What do you want from me?”

Slick didn’t answer the question, reaching into his suit pocket. Droog stiffened. He wasn’t really going to…

“I refuse t'have this.” Slick growled as he flicked his wrist, unlocking the balisong. It swung open, glinting in the artificial streetlight.

“Slick–”

“Yeah, keep runnin’ yer mouth. Real fuckin’ smart.”

He finally approached Droog, hand at the ready before he pressed the blade against Droog’s side, making him go still. Droog stared down at him, eyes narrowing. “I hoped you wouldn’t go this far.”

Slick gave his head a single shake. “You don’t know me at all.”

“I didn’t even do anything to warrant this.” Was his voice raising? Fuck.

Without much effort, a testament to how sharp Slick kept his blades, he pressed against the weapon. The metal cut through each layer of clothing easily, and then just as easily cut through skin and muscle. It was low enough not to hit any vital organs, but high enough to cause significant pain. Slick knew his torture.

“You were insolent,” Slick sneered.

The corner of Slick’s mouth twitched as blood flowed from the new wound. He let out a low growl of a laugh as he pressed the blade in about halfway. At that point, he ripped it out with a single harsh movement. There was a purple flash, and Droog suspected that he wasn’t going to be able to just get Deuce to heal this away.

Droog let out a pained groan this time, which was enough for Slick to leave things be--though his eyes still held anger as Droog stared him down.

“Next time it’ll be worse, Droog. Much, much, worse.”

Slick wiped his knife off on Droog’s cheek, leaving a crimson stripe on his teammate’s face, and then vanished. The tentacles melted away after him, falling back into Droog’s shadow as if they’d never been there to begin with. Droog grabbed his side, looking down at his injury.

Scofflaw stepped out of the shadows, tapping the ash from his cigarette.

“That went well,” he said.

“What do you want?”

Scofflaw walked slowly. He kept his distance from Droog as though he were a wounded animal that needed to be observed. Maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth. “’s what I wanted t’ ask you,” he said. “What were y’ lookin’ for?”

“I wasn’t looking for anything.”

“Don’ bullshit me, darlin’.” Scofflaw took a long drag from his cigarette. “You’re already hurtin’ ‘n I’m sure y’ don’t wanna make it worse.”

Droog didn’t move. He stayed there, clutching his wound, glaring at Scofflaw while Scofflaw continued to circle him. He was like a vulture.

“Once I realized there were places in the city that were surrounded by magic barriers,” Droog said, carefully. “I honed in on the largest one and determined that that was where your PI was staying.”

“Hmm. You’d think that.” Scofflaw chuckled a little bit. “Inny’s a master of misdirection, though. Obvious indicators like that? He’s leadin’ ya’ astray.”

“The barriers would only be detectable to someone with shadow magic,” Droog said.

“'n he already knows you been comin’ here.” Scofflaw finished his cigarette and flicked it aside, not bothering to put it out. “He’s been settin’ up defenses.”

“You knew I would search your city.” Droog shifted his weight. His wound was bothering him, but Scofflaw wasn’t quite done yet.

“Mmhmm.” Scofflaw nodded and shrugged. “'sa hopeless search. I can’t even find 'im when he wants t’ hide.”

“What reason would he have to hide from you?”

Scofflaw laughed. “He’s a PI! I’m sure y’ understand.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Hmm. Well. Point is.” Scofflaw waggled a finger. “Quit lookin’. You ain’t gonna find nothin’.”

“Sound advice. If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

“'f course. But, y'know.” Scofflaw closed the distance, finally approaching Droog and putting a hand on his shoulder. “If'n y’ ain’t stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong, y’ are welcome in my city. Jus’ ’s long’s y’ respect my rules.” Scofflaw smiled, and it almost seemed genuine. Maybe it was, insofar as anything Scofflaw did was genuine.

Which, granted, wasn’t a lot.

“I like ya’, Droog,” Scoff added. “You’re smart.”

“Thank you.” Droog wasn’t impressed with the flattery. “You should give up on Slick. He’s not going to be interested in you.”

Scofflaw chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. “Well. Whether it pans out'r not,  I enjoy th’ chase.”

Droog, to his credit, did not sneer, but his disdain came across well enough. “Have fun with that.”

“I’ll leave ya’ to your injuries,” Scofflaw said, a little too cheerfully. “Get well soon, et cetera.”

Droog didn’t waste any more words on the alternate-universe mobster. He teleported away, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

\---

**> Be Diamonds Droog, but in the present.**

Droog was determined not to let Scofflaw know what he had done. Ideally, he didn’t want to let on that he was feeling ill at all. He had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to give away any indication that he couldn’t do it.

He strolled into Scofflaw’s office as though it was the most casual thing in the world. Scofflaw looked up from some paperwork he was going through, and Droog tossed a set of keys onto his desk. Scofflaw looked at the keys, then looked up at Droog with eyebrows raised.

“It’s for an armored car,” Droog said, by way of explanation. “It’s parked closeby, and contains all of the stolen weapon shipments.”

Doing the job had been a relief. They put up a fight. Droog was able to let out a lot of pent-up magic.

“That was quick,” Scofflaw said. “They had ‘n armored car?”

“No. I did.”

“Ah.”

Droog fished a card out of his jacket and flipped it into a manilla envelope. Scofflaw took it, opening it and looking through the papers inside.

“They weren’t just some ‘li’l shits’,” Droog said, emphasizing Scofflaws own earlier words. “They were a small fraction of a larger syndicate. This is all the information I’ve gotten on them so far.”

“Now  _ this _ !” Scofflaw tapped a page. “This’s the kinda busy I like.”

Scofflaw continued leafing through the pages as Droog spoke. “Apparently the group exists for the sole purpose of theft and hoarding. Why, I have no idea. I’m still working on the where.”

“Prolly a buncha apocalypse nutbags.” Scofflaw put the papers down, and reached for his coffee mug. “I’ve seen ‘em before. Always hoardin’ shit for the end’f th’ world.”

Droog shrugged. “I didn’t think it was very concerning, until I found something else in their stash.”

Another card came out of Droog’s jacket. He flipped it into a balisong. He twirled the knife in his fingers, Scofflaw watching intently.

“Where’re you goin’ with this, darlin’?”

“This belongs to Slick.” Droog quit twirling the knife, to show Scofflaw a spade insignia on the base of the blade. “I know this knife  _ intimately. _ I’ll let you take a guess why this is bad.”

Scofflaw laughed. “Bad? This’s goddamn hilarious.”

Droog paused, taking a moment to very deliberately fold the balisong closed. “What about this is hilarious?”

“Because your old boss thinks he can mess with my shit,” Scofflaw put his coffee mug down with a nice, solid  _ tap. _ “‘N all it’s doin’ is givin’ me excuses t’ show ‘im who’s really in charge.”

“You’re getting the wrong idea,” Droog said. “This knife wasn’t used against me. Not this time, anyway. I found it, along with your shipment, and several other things.”

Scofflaw looked downright disappointed that Slick hadn’t, in fact, been trying to pick a fight with him. He crossed his arms on the desk and leaned forward onto them. “So what’s goin’ on? These punks stealin’ from your old boss, too?”

“It appears so.” Droog carded, then pocketed the knife. “They seem to have found the Rift. This is… less than ideal.”

“It’s annoyin’, is what it is. Now they got twice’s many places t’ hide.” Scofflaw sighed, then leaned back again. “Nah, y’know what, you’re doin’ a good job here. You jus’ keep goin’ with this, smoke ‘em out for me.”

Droog hesitated. He was in no condition for this. The Terror in him reveled at the thought of more violence, but the rest of him just thought of late nights staking out suspicious locations and trying to stay focused while his insides were being eaten alive.

His gut hurt. He could feel something moving.

“What?” Scofflaw said, noticing the pause. “Y’ can’t do it?”

“I can do it,” Droog said, quickly. “You can count on me.”

“Thank ya’ kindly, my darlin’.” Scofflaw took the keys Droog had left on the desk, and pocketed them. “Hop to it.”

Droog turned and walked out of the office.

He was out in the alleyway, in the darkness where no one could see him, when he finally dropped his composure. He heaved, leaning against the brick wall for support. That moving feeling continued, wriggling its way upward…

A door opened. A few bar-hoppers stepped out into the alley. Panicking and desperate not to be seen, Droog pulled himself into the shadows, teleporting himself to his safe-house.

He hit the floor hard.

When he had the energy to lift his head, he noticed ink on the floor. He touched his face to realize it was flowing from his eyes and nose. Before he had time to parse that fact, he was overcome with a coughing fit. He choked and sputtered, gasping for breath, as he fought against something wriggling its way up his throat. There were blotches in his field of vision when something spilled out of him. It hit the tile floor with a squelch and squirmed about like a severed lizard tail, trailing ink everywhere it touched.

It was a tentacle. A single, short tentacle--a piece of the thing growing inside of him.

Droog collapsed back onto the floor, trying to catch his breath.

This thing was going to come out of him, and soon. He couldn’t let that happen.


End file.
